Kleptos to The Core
by Sirana
Summary: Everyone calls Robin a Kelpto, or Kleptomaniac. She thinks she's the only one with that brand on her until she meets a mutant under the same title. Except this one is a much more effective thief with the ability to run faster than anyone she's ever known. It's been a while since Robin's had a friend, much less someone to go shoplifting with, so maybe she can make this work.
1. Stealing Headphones

((Takes place the summer after Apocalypse))

My eyes peered slowly over the rim of my magazine, staring intently at the display table at the center of the store. They had just come out that week: Talga 1983 Headphones. And there they were, placed perfectly on a pedestal amongst boxes and boxes of them. New product releases were always like this—throwing their latest thing in their consumers' faces. I liked it when they threw things at me because I'd always bite. But maybe not in the way they thought I would.

It was 6 am, only 30 minutes after the music store had opened, so not many people were around. Good; fewer witnesses. The clerk at the checkout was reading the morning paper, though he would occasionally glance up to check on the odd customer. Ideally, he would have been removed by some distraction, but I could work with this…probably. Casually, I closed the magazine and set it back on the shelf. I moved in on the display table, but made sure only to browse a shelf next to it. Glancing behind me, I could see the shiny silver headphones, just waiting to be taken.

And then, like fate was going my way, the clerk stood up and went into the backroom. It was now or never, so I whirled around and nabbed the headphones, jamming them into my satchel. It was the sample one on display, so I'd have to get out of there quick before someone noticed they were—

"Hey!"

My head jerked up to see that the clerk had reappeared at the front desk, his stare set dead on me. I paled and froze on the spot, like a deer in the headlights with a string of curse words flying through my head. I wasn't often caught shoplifting, so my techniques of escape were a little rusty. Should I say I was just looking? No, they're already in my bag, he won't buy it. Drop them and run? No, he'd catch me! As I processed another list of possibilities, the world suddenly became one massive blur, and the next thing I knew I was in the local park…at least 45 minutes from the music store. I was still stuck in the same position I had been caught in—wide, auburn eyes and a dumbstruck look. Eventually, a voice broke me out of my shock.

"Not bad, but you could use some work on your subtlety."

I gasped and turned to see a guy with short silver hair and biker goggles. He wore a black and white striped shirt with a silver bomber jacket and old, worn jeans.

"Uuh…" I tried to say something, but I found myself a little speechless.

"Should have noticed the clerk was only going in back for a sec to get his heart medication," he spoke quickly, "Nothing that would take long enough to give you an opening. Sorry, I forget it's harder for normal people to steal stuff."

"I-I…" I stuttered, blinking a few times, "What?! What do you mean? Where are we?"

"The park, where's it look like?" he shrugged.

"I know that!"

"So why'd you ask?"

"But _how_ did we get here?!"

"I dunno, it's all a blur," he smirked, stroking his chin mockingly, "But I believe it started when you tried to steal headphones sitting in the middle of a store on a display table. That's shoddy shoplifting work if I ever saw it."

Okay, screw a plausible explanation. Nobody insulted my thieving skills! I flipped my long, black hair haughtily and crossed my arms.

"My shoplifting isn't shoddy!" I snapped.

"Sure it isn't. That's why we're here and not at the music store while the owner calls the police and puts a warrant out for your arrest."

This guy's overly fast sassing was starting to get on my nerves. And he still hadn't answered my question!

"Ugh! Look, how did I get out here? Just a second ago I was—"

"Less than a second, but go on."

"—I was in the music store. Why am I out here?" I finished.

"Easy. I brought you out here," he answered simply.

"H-How? It takes almost an hour to get to here from the store?"

The kid just gave me a big, shit-eating grin because he knew he didn't even have to explain. My expression dropped and I took a few steps back.

"You're…a mutant." I breathed, "But why did you help me?"

"Couldn't leave a fellow klepto out to dry."

"Klepto…" I rolled my eyes.

That was what my older brother called me. It practically felt like a brand of its own, similar to the term "mutant." Kleptomaniac definitely wasn't a word that made feel one welcome in society.

"You're saying you steal things, too?" I gave him a curious look, "I suppose it would be easier with powers like that."

He only shook his head with that same smirk, "You have no idea."

Then he darted his hand into my bag and pulled out the headphones I had just stolen, feeling the cushioning around the earphones.

"H-Hey!" I protested, trying to snatch them back, but he only pulled them away again.

"But it doesn't take a mutant with super speed to know a bad shoplifter," he sighed.

"Again, I'm not a bad thief!" I growled, this time taking back my headphones, "I've been doing this since I was a kid."

Jamming the headphones back into my bag, I narrowed my eyes at him and tapped my foot impatiently.

"I wanted those headphones bad, and not many places sell them. And what was I supposed to do, take one of the boxed ones? Yeah, good luck trying to sneak one of those bulky things out! I just got unlucky is all."

I crossed my arms defensively and looked away from him with a scowl. It had happened all very quickly and it was a bit much to process, but I was still pissed that this mutant was criticizing my life's work. Meanwhile, the boy only gave a nonchalant shrug, probably holding back another wisecrack.

"Why are you so open about your powers anyway?" I asked out of the blue.

Surprisingly, his face remained blank and unchanged. He looked almost bored.

"I mean, I don't see many mutants use their powers if they can hide them," I shrugged, "Aren't you afraid I'll tell someone?"

I remembered one kid who used to live down the street from me. She could control plants and could pretty much turn any room into a greenhouse. But it got to the point where she was so frightened of showing her powers, that she wouldn't even touch a tree unless she wore a pair of gloves. Eventually too many people in the neighborhood found out about her, so she had to move away.

"Nothing anyone would _believe_ if you told 'em," he snickered.

I slowly looked down at the Talga Headphones in my hands, running the fingers along the metal that held the two ear pieces together.

"Well, I can't imagine why I'd want to tell anybody…" I mumbled pensively.

With someone like him, I could get away with a lot more heists. Imagine all the shit I could steal with a friend like that; maybe I could finally steal a motorcycle, too! As the idea formed in my head, a mischievous smile grew on my face.

"Hey, do you—" I looked up, but he was gone.

The park around me was totally empty, I was left there with a pair of stolen headphones and a million unanswered questions. Part of me wanted to believe I had made it all up in my head, but if I did that, I wouldn't have gotten a pair of kickass headphones. I was sure that at some point in my life I had met a mutant, but none that made themselves known to me. But this guy just flaunted his abilities like they were nothing! Although he was right, nobody would believe that a strange, silver-haired mutie rescued me from being caught shoplifting. I didn't even know his name.

I trudged home, using my new headphones with my pocket cassette player (which was also stolen) playing some Ramones music. My house was fairly small with only a ground floor and a small crawlspace above the backroom. It was all two people needed to live in, though. My older brother, Jordan, was 29 years old and my legal guardian. My mother died in a car accident when I was younger and my dad worked out of state to bring money home for my brother and I. It made for an awkward childhood and even more of an awkward home life. Most of my meals were eaten solo and the house was always a mess. Despite having to look after me, Jordan basically had one rule: just don't get him involved in my issues. So as long as I stole stuff, I just wasn't supposed to get caught.

When I got home, I saw him in the living room, watching the news and sipping a cheap beer. Even though I opened the door as slowly as I could and tiptoed past, he still heard me. That was the second time I gotten caught that day. Maybe I was losing my touch?

"Robin?" he spoke up, switching the TV off, "Where have you been?"

I cringed as he called my name, knowing he'd give me a full interrogation. With an exasperated sigh, I walked back to the living room defeated.

"I told you, the music store," I shrugged.

"The music store shouldn't take that long, it's only ten minutes from here," he gave me a suspicious look, "You were supposed to be back a long time ago, remember? You promised to help me clean out the backroom this morning."

"I, uh…" I shifted my feet uncomfortably and ran a hand through my raven hair, "Got a little sidetracked."

The park was a lot longer of a walk than the store. All that got was even more narrowed eyes from my brother until he beckoned for me to come closer.

"Alright, you klepto," he groaned, "Let's see it."

"See what?"

"You're bag. Let me see it."

"W-What? Are you accusing me of something?"

" _Robin_ ," he said forebodingly.

I knew he had enough bullshit, so I gave in and dropped my bag on the coffee table with a curt expression and waited for the examination to begin. Jordan sat up from his armchair and ripped open my satchel, taking everything out one by one. Gum, pads, my pocket cassette player, pens, a notepad, my empty wallet, and a handful of unused coupons were thrown out on the coffee table from my satchel. At the bottom, he found the headphones, and he cast me a dubious glance.

"What are these?"

"The new Talga Headphones," I shrugged, "They just came out a few days ago, so it was a miracle our music store had them."

"How much were they?"

"50 dollars,"

Jordon only scoffed at me and rolled his eyes, "You expect me to believe you spent 50 real dollars on a pair of headphones?"

"Hey, who's gonna be able to steal prized headphones like these? They're practically under guard in every store! You'd need super powers or something to get away with it," I retorted, "Is it so hard to believe that I bought them?"

"Yeah, where'd you get the money?"

"I saved up the allowance you gave me," I said simply.

"So you saved up three months' worth of money?"

"Mhm." I nodded.

Then an awkward stare down ensued between the two of us, him waiting for me to crack and me waiting for him to end the interrogation. After a few seconds of silence, he tossed the headphones on the table with the rest of my things and fell back into the plush armchair. I quickly gathered up my belongings and crammed them into my satchel again, thankful he had let me go on this one. These "bag examinations" were nothing new to me, and I had slowly learned how to get around them.

"Put your stuff away and help me with the backroom," he called as I retreated from the living room.

My room itself was pretty small, but every inch of my walls were covered in movie and music posters. All the way from Ramones to Blade Runner and even The Troggs. My record player sat in the middle of the room with vinyls laying all around it. I was supposed to keep it on my dresser, but I rarely did—its home was pretty much my wooden floorboards. On the wall across from my bed sat an old TV with a few small cracks in the screen. Sitting just under that was an Atari 2600 with a few game cartridges along with a dusty VHS player and a few VHS tapes. And everything in my room from Pac-Man to my pillow was stolen. Jordan was seldom in my room, but when he was, I would remind of the "summer job" I had last year to pay for all of this or the "friends" I had to who lent me the money.

To be honest, he probably didn't buy any of it, but figured my story sounded believable enough for a police officer. Neither of those stories were true: I never had a job and I didn't have any friends. I was the tall, dark, and scary girl in college, and the few friends that I did have were scared off by my need to shoplift. My brother called it "kelptomania," but I had read up on the subject, and the psychosis seemed too serious for what I had. To me, I was more of an adrenaline junky who couldn't wait for something like money to come along, so she'd just take whatever she wanted. Jordan would also say I'd be different if Mom or Dad were here, and I'm sure it would. Wouldn't have to fill that gaping hole of parental love with material things anymore. But until that ever happened (if it did), I was content with nabbing chips and sodas from the gas station.

As I helped my brother clean out the pigsty that was the backroom, I casually mentioned my run-in with the mutant kid. Of course, I didn't mention his powers or how he helped me steal those headphones, but it wasn't like he'd believe me anyways. I described his silver hair and quick manner of speaking, and after a few moments, Jordan seemed to know who I was talking about. His name was Peter Maximoff, and as my brother said, he was a "total jackass." Apparently, he was around my brother's age, and midway through college, he dropped out to live in his mom's basement. He didn't look Jordan's age to me, though that might have been because Jordan smoked. According to him, Peter was always a cocky little shit who everyone loathed at school. My brother seemed worried about the fact that I had met him and asked me all sorts of questions. He warned me that Peter was also a known klepto and to stay away from him.

"I just met him at the music store," I shrugged, "No big deal."

"Bet he was looking for something to steal," Jordan sneered, "He'd always take our school supplies and test answers when we weren't looking. And I swear, the rate that he could steal at was incredible. Some kids even thought he could be one of those weirdo mutants."

I had remembered what Peter had said earlier that day about not letting fellow kleptos out to dry. He had saved my ass, so it only seemed right that I defend his. Not to mention, the person Jordan described didn't seem like the type to save a clueless 19-year-old from arrest.

"He didn't seem that bad," I mumbled as I continued to sweep the backroom floor.

Jordan looked up from the pile of junk he was sorting through, "He's a jerk, Robin, and is only gonna make your kleptomania worse."

"For the last time, I don't have kleptomania," I groaned.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," he said dismissively.

"Well, you said he dropped out midway through college, so it's been a while since you've last seen him," I pointed out, "You don't know if he's still a jackass."

"Oh yeah? You talked to him for a few minutes, how can you claim to know that much about him?" Jordan shot back, "For all you know, he had a stolen vinyl under his coat."

He probably did which made me like him all the more. If I could just befriend this guy, I could finally have someone who isn't deterred by my need to steal. I waited until my brother's friends came over later that night to watch the game, then I emerged from my room. They all seemed pretty absorbed in whatever two football teams were knocking heads this time, but I managed to catch one of them raiding our fridge in the kitchen.

"Hey Thomas," I said, leaning up against the counter.

I'm guessing I startled him by the way he yelped and hit his head on the roof of the fridge. Thomas gave me a bewildered look before smoothing his hair back and regaining his composure.

"Oh. Hey, Robin," he gave a nervous smile, "You're—uh—out of Cool Whip."

I smiled and rolled my eyes. Thomas was always the one to eat all of our sweets. He seemed surprised to see me outside of my room since I would usually hide when he and the others came over.

"Do you know a guy named Peter Maximoff?" I cut right to the chase.

For a moment, he scratched his head, trying to think up where he had heard that name before. Then he snapped his fingers as a look of realization came to him.

"Yeah! He was that dick in our high school class! Didn't last more than two years in college," he chuckled, "Still think he has my slinky…"

"Do you know where I could find him?" I asked.

That got me a confused look.

"Why?"

Time for my poker face to come in handy.

"I ran into him at the music store today and the asshole stole my wallet," I complained.

"Just go to the police about it," Thomas shrugged.

"I would, but Jordan told me he's really slippery and hard to catch. I doubt the police would do me any good, so I'd rather go after him myself."

Thomas smirked, "Heheh. Takes a klepto to know a klepto. I didn't know you guys stole from one another, though."

"I'm not a klepto," I droned in an irritated tone.

"Oh yeah? Where's my bottle opener?" Thomas put his hands on his hips.

"I didn't take your—"

But Thomas held out a hand, expectantly waiting for it to be returned. Giving a growl, I reached into my hoodie pocket and dropped the bottle opener in his hand. Sometimes these guys knew me too well.

"I don't know where he lives, but he always liked the arcade," Thomas said as he pocketed his bottle opener, "And since he's living with his mom, I doubt that's changed."

"Thanks," I grunted and headed back for my room.

AN: So tell me what you think! Did you enjoy it? This is my first attempt at an X-Men fic, but hopefully I'll do well~ Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	2. Stealing Breakfast

Since it was summer, I had plenty of time to goof around; like looking for mutants in the local arcade at nine in the morning. At first, I didn't find him, but after I settled in with Frogger for a half hour, I spotted him playing Galaga. He was actually pretty good at it. I waited a few moments until he lost his last life in the game, then I moved in.

He didn't even turn around when he said, "Well, if it isn't my fellow klepto."

I just rolled my eyes at that term, "Can I talk to you, Peter?"

The mention of his name got his attention. He turned away from the "Game Over" screen with raised eyebrows.

"So you know my name? You've been snooping around," he mused.

"Yeah, and I—" I started to say when I noticed he was going to put another quarter in the machine.

I grabbed his hand, making him jump back a bit in surprise. He probably wasn't used to people actually catching him up like that.

"I wanna talk to you," I said firmly.

"Ok…" he pulled his hand back, giving me his undivided attention, "What do you want?"

"I…"

Suddenly it felt more awkward saying this. I acted like I had come with a serious proposition for him when I really just wanted to hang out.

"I was just wondering if, you know, wanted to go steal some shit sometime…" I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck.

"You're asking me to hang out with you?" he droned.

"Yeah, I mean, I do all my thefts alone, and it'd be nice to have someone to help me," I shrugged.

"Sounds more like you wanna use my powers," he said quickly.

"What? No!" I snapped, "Look, you said yourself that kleptos gotta look out for each other."

"I said that, but we don't have to work together," he answered simply, going right back to his game, "Besides, you'd just slow me down."

"Are you just saying that because I'm a human?" I sassed.

"I'm saying that because I'm a mutant," he said blankly, eyes glued to the arcade cabinet, "You couldn't even steal a pair of headphones without getting caught."

For a few seconds, I didn't say anything, and Peter seemed to think I had left. But I was waiting for him to realize what I had done. But when he didn't, I gave a triumphant smirk and crossed my arms.

"Then where's your watch?" I asked haughtily.

"What?" he murmured.

Peter lifted his arm and rolled back his jacket sleeve to find it was gone. He looked both confused and impressed. It had been a long time since someone had gotten the jump on him like that.

"Not bad, but I do more than watches," he smirked over at me.

"What about your Walkman?" I continued.

His skin paled and his eyes darted down to his belt where the cassette player usually was. It was gone and I got to see that gratifying look of ignorance on his face as he patted all around his pockets and belt loops.

"And your wallet?" I sang.

That made him go frantically digging through the inner pockets of his jacket, but he found it right where it usually was. Peter even double checked that there was no cash missing. Giving a sigh of relief, he looked back up at me only to have his eyes bulge out of their sockets. I stood in front of him with a shit-eating grin, wearing his biker goggles over my eyes. It's all about misdirection. Galaga's "Game Over" sound effect accompanied the moment perfectly for Maximoff.

"How did you…" his voice trailed off.

I pulled the goggles of my face and handed them back to him, along with his watch and his Walkman cassette player. He quickly put them all back on, but noticed I was holding up the cassette tape that had been in his Walkman. Peter quickly snatched the tape back and stuck it back into the player, making a small clicking sound.

"Haha! Not as bad as you thought, huh?" I laughed.

"Well it wouldn't be much a partnership," he grumbled, "I mean, I can steal anything you or I could ever want without any help."

He tried to go back to his game yet again, but I gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.

"Come on, Peter," he teased him, "Haven't you ever wanted a partner in crime?"

I could tell I was getting on his nerves by the way he grimaced and rapped his fingers on the cabinet.

"What about a girl to hang out with?" I tried again.

"You're seriously gonna play the sex appeal card?" he snorted.

"My brother said you live in your mom's basement," I smirked, "I doubt you have many friends, much less friends that are girls."

Finally, he sighed and dug his hands in his pockets, accepting defeat.

"What's your name?" he grunted.

"Robin."

He gave me a once over, "How old are you?"

"19."

He just gave me a doubtful look.

"I'm just tall," I whined, "A lot of people in college mistake me for an auditor, sometimes even a teacher."

Peter snickered at the "teacher" part and I couldn't help but chuckle at it, too. Three times I had been asked what a lesson was for the day when I hardly knew myself.

"So, Robin," Peter crossed his arms, "What do you wanna steal first?"

My eyebrows raised since I hadn't expected to be doing any thievery right that second! Glancing around the scarcely populated arcade, my eyes landed on the front desk where they kept all the prizes and snacks. It was being watched over by a very tired-looking, midlife crisis clerk who was staring off into space. He seemed like the type you could easily irritate.

"How about some breakfast?" I nodded over towards the display of Twinkies and Hershey's Chocolate.

Peter arched his neck to get a better look before a devilish smile grew on his face.

Pulling his biker goggles over his eyes, he said, "I got it."

"Wait!" I hissed, grabbing his arm.

"What?"

"When was the last time you stole something old school?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Like no powers?" I added, "I mean, I'm sure they're great, but it's gotta get boring after a while, missing that rush of danger."

"Nnnnnot really," he shrugged.

I just gave him a deadpan look, "I know running at the speed of light is fun, but let me show you my kind of fun. Come on, you'll enjoy it. Just follow my lead."

Peter gave a sigh of annoyance before following me to the front counter where the clerk was still contemplating his dead-end job. I cleared my throat to get his attention, then pointed up to one of the high-up shelves behind him.

"Is that an Atari 2600?" I asked.

Following my point, he answered, "Yes ma'am."

Puckering up my lips and narrowing my eyes, I chirped, "I dunno. Could I see it out of the box?"

"What?" he sputtered.

"Yeah, cuz I'm gonna be working up tickets to buy one of those today, and I wanna make sure I'm getting the real thing."

The clerk blinked a few times, a little confused why I was being so picky. It was a bloody arcade, not an antique store!

"It's the real thing," he stated simply.

"I wanna see it," I huffed, "Or I'm not gonna spend my quarters here."

"Then go play at a different arcade," he argued.

It was clear this guy didn't care about his job very much, or the mention of my money would have gotten his attention. Looks like I'd just have to be a nuisance.

"Look, my sister had a boyfriend who's cousin went to this arcade up in Vancouver and they were offering an Atari 2600 just like that as a prize, but it was 300 tickets instead of 600 but that's not important. And she told me that her boyfriend's cousin spent all day working up tickets—"

"Well this ain't Vancouver!" the clerk snarled.

"—and when he won that Atari 2600, it was almost closing time, but he got it. So they gave it to him—and remember, he spent almost 100 dollars getting those tickers—"

"I don't care, lady!"

"—but when he opened the box, there was an Atari 5200 inside! Now I know those are the most recent version, but have you seen the reviews? The backwards compatibility, the lack of sales, ugh! And when he went back the next day for a refund, they—"

"Uugh! Fine!" the clerk finally shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, "I'll show you the stupid Atari!"

"Thank you," I said with a curt smile.

He walked over to the other end of the counter where it was and began digging around for a stepstool. Meanwhile, I handed Peter my bag, and pointed to the snacks.

"Don't take 'em all, and remember to rearrange them," I whispered to him.

As the clerk stepped up on the stool to reach the shelf I walked over to his side to avoid suspicion. I used to do this technique by myself, but sometimes they'd look back at me in hopes I could tell them exactly what I wanted from the shelf. I had a lot of close calls because of that. But with Peter, I could stay in the clerk's line of sight. Speaking of Peter, I noticed he was already shoving the candy into my satchel.

"You bug every store you go to, lady?" the clerk barked down at me, the console just barely evading his reach.

"No, just the shady ones," I sassed back.

The clerk gave me a glare but went back to trying to reach the box. Glancing back at Peter, I saw that he had stuffed my bag full of sweets and was giving me the thumbs up with a small smirk on his face. I was about to make an excuse for us to leave when Peter grabbed me, placing a hand behind my neck, and speeding us out about a block away. Just like last time, I was left disoriented and with a bit of a headache.

After blinking hard a few times, I went, "What was that?"

"What, we were done weren't we?" he shrugged, opening my satchel, "I was gettin' bored."

"I said we weren't gonna use your powers."

"Yeah, but how were we gonna get out of that?"

"The same way we got in: make an excuse," I said a matter-of-factly, "Like I was going to kick you in the nuts and pretend like you were having an ulcer, then excuse us from the premise."

"Ouch," Peter cringed, "I'm glad I went with my plan."

He plopped down on a sidewalk bench, crossing one leg over the other, and dug out two Hershey's candy bars. I sat down next to him and he handed me one with almonds.

"But you have to admit," I said as I unwrapped the candy, "It was pretty fun."

"Eh," he shrugged, unwrapping his own chocolate bar, "Took a little long."

"But come on!" I grinned, "That story I made up, shoving down as much candy into my bag as you could?! What a rush, right?! And that annoyed look on his face was hilarious!"

"The story was pretty funny," he chuckled, taking a bite of his candy.

We sat in silence for a few moments, chomping down on our stolen sweets until I decided to speak up again.

"I robbed a liquor store once doing that," I said, "The best part is making up the story. The last time it was some tale about my Irish grandfather who really wanted the Irish whiskey on the top shelf."

" _Is_ your grandpa Irish?"

"Pffft. No," I snorted, "He's dead."

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled.

"Nah, no big deal," I shook my head, then handed my chocolate bar out to him, "Have you had the kind with almonds? It's pretty good, you should try it."

Peter dipped his head and took a bite of the chocolate bar, nodding to himself.

"Yeah, it's pretty good. Want some of mine?" he held out his own chocolate bar.

I took a bite just like he had, tasting the sweet milk chocolate in my mouth.

"Jeez that was a big bite," he scoffed.

"Wot?" I said with through a mouthful of coco, "I like that kind."

The two of us sat in silence until we had both finished out candy bars. I finished mine with a satisfied burp and wiped my mouth of any excess almonds.

"So, Robin, you know some slight-of-hand tricks and the old counter distraction, but what else can you do?" Peter asked, stuffing his candy wrapper in his pocket.

"I can pull some quality heists," I bragged, "Though, they can only be so good since I usually only have myself to do them."

"Like what?"

"Clothes, TVs, video games, music, movies, jewelry, even a cat," I went down the list, "I even have my own Atari that I stole on my own."

Peter mulled it over in his head before nodding slightly, saying, "Not bad, not bad. I mean, for someone with no powers. I've got at least 12 stolen TVs in my basement."

"12? What do you need 12 for?"

"I have a few 'friends' with money who ask for things, and I give it to them," he shrugged, plucking a Twinkie out of my bag.

"So basically, the black market?" I pointed out.

"Yyyyep," he smiled, "Not enough to move out of my mom's basement though. But I'm sure it's more than you've stolen."

My mouth dropped open and I slammed my hand down on my thigh, "Will you seriously stop sucking your own dick?"

Peter guffawed at my crude language.

"I am an amazing thief!" I laughed along with him, "I'm serious, you should see my room."

Peter had practically doubled over in laughter. My manner of speaking was definitely more straight forward than others. When he finished both his laughing and his Twinkie, he stood up from the bench.

"Alright, let's see it then," he said.

"Wait, right now?" I giggled.

"Yeah, if you're half the thief you say you are, I'd like some proof," he remarked.

Standing up myself, I crossed my arms, "How do I know you won't steal anything?"

"We're partners in crime Robin, why would do that?" he asked in his usual quick way with a smirk.

I couldn't help but let a big smile spread across my lips. The friend I had wanted since yesterday was finally mine and he seemed to finally like me. But looking back, I think we were both just desperate for company. Surprisingly, he didn't use his powers to rush us both to my house. Instead, we walked a normal speed, occasionally chatting about where we were from and what our families were like. He didn't seem to be freaked out about my family situation, in fact, he had grown up without a father figure himself. When we got to my house, I told him to wait outside, then ran up to the front door.

I poked my head in and called for Jordan to check if he was home. When I got no response, I figured he was still at his job. Scurrying back down the front lawn, I motioned for Peter to follow.

"Why did you have to check first?" he asked as he stepped inside.

"My brother," I answered, "Apparently he went to school with you and thinks you're an ass so he says I should stay away from you. Plus, he doesn't want his kleptomaniac sister befriending another klepto."

"Jordan?" Peter said as we walked down the hall.

I stopped and turned around, "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I looked at your family pictures when I came in, then took the liberty of reading your brother's yearbook," he explained, "I remember him—real boring, didn't know how to have any fun."

I couldn't help but laugh again, shaking my head in disbelief. Peter really was something, snooping through my home too fast for me to even notice.

"Whatever, so long as he doesn't catch you here," I called as I continued down the hall.

The first thing he noticed about my room were my copious amounts of poster on the walls and ceiling. He spent a good minute just looking at all of them, nodding approvingly of my cinema and musical taste.

"Did you steal all these?" he asked.

"Most of them," I stared up at the walls with him, "Some of them were gifts."

"What about that one?" he pointed to a Jim Croce poster.

It was odd that he pointed that one out specifically, but I shrugged and nodded, "Yep. I stole that one, too."

"Nice," Peter smiled.

"You a fan of Croce?"

"Who isn't?"

Since he seemed only interested in my poster collection, I decided to draw attention to my other stolen goods.

"I stole that TV, too, and that Atari," I pointed to the corner of my room, "And most of those game cartridges, too."

Before he had time to study what games I had, I sat him down on my bed.

"Alright, you better sit down, cuz this could take a while," I smiled as he looked up at me in confusion.

Diving underneath my bed, I pulled out a decent size Tupperware full of VHS tapes.

I put them down next to him, saying, "Any popular movie you can think of I've got in there. All taken from different video stores all over the area."

Going back under the bed, I pulled out a cardboard box that was a lot heavier than it looked. Peter looked surprised to see it full of knick-knacks and other personal effects. It had driver's licenses, antique photos, empty wallets, watches, rabbit's paws, address books, love letters, and expired credit cards.

"Holy shit…" Peter breathed as he ran a hand through the mishmash of objects.

"These are just some tennis rackets I stole the other week," I said as I continued to fish things out from under my bed and drop them next to Peter, "Baseballs, field hockey ball… you can tell it was a sporting goods store I robbed… Oh! I forgot I had this!"

I popped up with a large kitchen knife in one hand, making Peter flinch back in surprise. I just giggled at him and shook my head.

"Don't worry, I got this in case there's ever a break in, not because I'm a psychopath."

"You sure about that?" Peter looked down at the cardboard box again.

Nobody with a sane mind would hoard people's belongings like that.

"Pot calling the kettle black," I teased as I started to cram everything back under my bed.

I went to put the container of VHS tapes away, but Peter stopped me, telling me he wasn't done with them. So I let them stay out, but made sure to warn him of what would happen if he stole any.

"Really fancy jewelry stores are too high security for me to rob, and besides, I don't want to wear any of those overly sparkly stuff," I said as I sat down next to him with my jewelry box, "So most of these are from subpar jewelers, but some are from pickpocketing trips, and I think some of these may be heirlooms…"

I showed off an old emerald ring for a few moments before quickly running through the box's many drawers and then shoving it back on top of my dresser. I felt like I was moving as fast as Maximoff talked, excitedly showing him my loot like an over obsessed dragon.

"All of the clothes in here are mine; hand-me-downs or stuff I bought," I gestured to my dresser before strutting over to my closet, "But in here…"

Flinging open the door, I revealed a rack of fashionable dresses and shoes, most of which were in darker colors so it looked a little like a funeral wardrobe.

"Now I know guys aren't into clothes, so I'll try to make this quick," I blurted out, picking out a few of my favorites, "About half of these are stolen from relatives—things I snatch up at family reunions or things I borrow and 'promise' to return. But some of them…"

I pulled out a few hangers, showing off some high-quality leather jackets and blouses.

"…Are stolen from the mall. This is Forenza, that's Outback Red, Gloria Vanderbilt…" I named all the top brands off as I perused my closet, plucking the occasional designer jacket out for him to see.

After a while, it became more of a wardrobe journey for myself, rummaging around and finding things I had forgotten I owned.

"Ooh, I stole this from the Rave store at the mall," I mumbled to myself, pulling out a cute baseball cap and putting it on my head.

Before I could go back in for more, Peter raised a hand to stop me, "Ok, ok, I've seen enough!"

I stopped midway from reaching for an old scarf I had taken from my aunt. When I turned, I saw him with a flustered expression, his eyebrows raised as he ran a took off his goggles to ran a hand through his hair.

"You're good," he said quietly, for once slowing his speech, "You're a good klepto. Not just for a human, but you're good...damn."

"I'm not a klepto," I rolled my eyes playfully and twisted my baseball cap to one side, "Real kleptomaniacs live with this constant addiction to take anything that doesn't belong to them. Half the time they don't even want to take stuff, they just do because they feel like they have to. I steal because I want to and I like the rush, not because I get an itch in my brain if I don't."

But Peter just smiled up at me and slowly shook his head, "Don't deny what you are. Didn't work for me too well."

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes. It was faint and hard to catch, but it was there, almost turning his smile sullen. Peter was a mutant, and from what I heard on the news, being one wasn't easy. I couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for him to first discover his powers. Maybe that was another of the reasons nobody at my brother's school liked him. I bit my lip at the awkward tension in the room and hugged myself worriedly. Peter broke the silence by slipping a VHS tape out of the Tupperware and reading the title.

"You've got _Alien_? That's a good movie," he mused.

"Yeah, but I haven't actually seen it," I mentioned as I started to put all my clothes back.

Peter looked up with a mock expression of shock, clutching his heart to make it seem more dramatic.

"This is one of the best movies ever," he said in an over-exaggerated manner, "What do you mean you haven't seen it?"

"I just haven't," I giggled as I shut my closet, "Some of those tapes I've just stolen but never gotten the chance to see. Come on, you can't expect me to steal that many and still have time to watch all of them."

With his usual smirk, Peter hopped off the bed, switched on my TV, and popped the movie into the VHS player. He took a seat at the end of my bed against the footboard and patted the spot next to him.

"Seriously?" I smiled down at him, but he only nodded in response.

I grabbed my pillow and sat down next to him, making myself comfortable.

"But I will warn you…" he quirked an eyebrow.

 _Nyoom._ Next thing I knew, the lights were out and the blinds were drawn with only the glow of the TV illuminating our faces. He had also rushed to the kitchen and gotten an unopened bag of Doritos.

"…It's scary," he said like a horror movie narrator.

"Puh-lease," I snorted, "I've seen _The Exorcist_ , I think I can handle a little sci-fi."

The movie opened slowly with shots of stars and the occasional credit. I took the moment to rip open the bag of chips and have the first bite.

As the movie began to set the scene of the space station, Peter leaned over and murmured, "By the way, why do you have weight gain powder in your fridge? Your brother's really skinny in all your photos."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, stifling a laugh. This guy was always three steps ahead of my life. I had to admit, the movie _Alien_ was actually pretty good. It was suspenseful, the aliens were done well, it was gruesome when it needed to be, and it managed to make me flinch at a few jump scares! At one point, Peter even zipped off to the kitchen to throw out the Doritos we had both torn through to get another bag of chips. But right around when Dallas was getting jumped by an alien as the rest of the crew watched, my brother came home. I heard the keys jangle and the door slam shut and my heart just about dropped.

"Peter," I whispered over at him.

At first, he was too engrossed in the film.

"Peter!" I tried to whisper more loudly.

"Huh? What is it?" he snapped out of it.

I got up from the floor, stretching out my arms and legs from sitting for so long. Peter cringed and shut his eyes when I flipped the lights on.

"My brother's home," I sighed, "You're gonna have to go."

"Aw," he pouted, slowly picking himself off the floor, "Well, it's been fun, Robin."

"Yeah, no kidding," I remarked, "Now how am I gonna sneak you out of here…"

"What do you mean? Shouldn't be a problem for me," he smirked.

"Oh, right," I facepalmed, "Your powers. Um, then I guess I'll see you around?"

"Yep. Thanks for the fun, Robin," he said with a wink, pulling his biker goggles over his eyes.

 _Zoom_. He was gone in a rush of wind. But then— _whish_ —he was back!

"By the way, can I get your number?" he asked.

The way he asked it was a little different from how he usually talked. His shoulders were hunched over a bit and his voice were lowered as if he were afraid of getting shot down. Something told me he had gotten rejected by a lot of girls in the past when asked for their phone numbers.

"Sure," I smiled, pulling out a slip of paper.

As I wrote my number out, I added, "Just make sure not to call between 11:30 and 1:30 on weekdays. That's when my brother comes home from work for lunch, like right now. And if you ever call and you hear a male pick up, just hang up because chances are it's my brother or one of his friends."

I handed him my number, "Don't want them finding out I'm associating with another klepto."

"Not gonna deny it anymore?" he teased.

"Takes one to know one," I smirked.

 _Whoosh_. He was off once again.

AN: Gotta follow up your first chapter hook with something exciting! Shout out to the guest and JosieoftheRose for their first time reviews. Pls continue to favorite and leave feedback~


	3. Stealing Bets

I didn't hear from Peter again until the weekend. During that time, I spent mapping out locations where we could pull different heists. It felt so exciting to plan them knowing I'd have someone to help me. Before when I would pull jobs, I'd have to figure out ways to create diversions and go from Point A to Point B all on my own. But now I had a friend to help, so my plans became a lot easier to draw out. By Friday night, I had a stack of notes and hand-drawn maps of all the locations I wanted to rob. On Saturday morning, I was sitting with Jordan in the family room, watching the morning news, munching on a bowl of cereal.

The anchors on the TV were giving a report on the US and its stance on its mutant citizens. Two of the anchors in particular were going back and forth, arguing over whether or not the mutants were a danger to society. Normally, I'd either zone out or change the channel, but it suddenly felt like this pertained to me. My new friend was a mutant, and it felt strange hearing the newsmen talk about his kind like zoo animals.

"No, not every mutant is evil," the one newsman said, "But there are those that are, and I'm sorry, but so long as the earth spins, there will be evil humans and evil mutants. So there needs to be restrictions put on mutants to prevent criminal activity. We have the same restrictions with humans, but with the mutants, it's just going to have to be a little stricter since they are more powerful."

"But you do realize that is what they did with the Jews in Nazi Germany," the opposing newsman brought up.

"Well this isn't 1940s Germany and we aren't living under Nazi occupation," the other argued, "This is modern day and things are different, you can't apply the past to the present. Mutants need to be identified, registered, and monitored; and those mutants who have nothing to hide will have no trouble from this program. It will be harmless to those who follow civilized law, but those who do not will find themselves in a world of trouble."

I slowly stopped spooning my Cornflakes down my throat, listening intently to the debate. When I replaced the word "mutant" with "kleptomaniac," I couldn't help but feel a little vulnerable. On the few times my dad visited, he suggested Jordan take me into a psychologist to actually be diagnosed. But something about being officially labeled scared me, so I never went in.

"That one guy's right you know," Jordan spoke up, "Mutants are dangerous; shouldn't be allowed to hide in society."

Glancing over at him, I muttered, "Maybe they want to hide for a reason. People haven't exactly been friendly to them."

"Cuz they haven't been friendly to us," Jordan huffed, "Some mutants—they're just dangerous no matter what you do. Like that Maximoff kid: at least you have a chance of getting over your kleptomania, but that guy? His powers are gonna keep him on that until the day he dies. He can't even walk out of a store without getting the urge to steal a pack of gum."

With a sharp intake of breath, I suddenly stood up from the couch and took my bowl to the kitchen. I didn't want to hear any more of my brother's biased yammering. After cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast, I was about to head back to my room to change out of my PJs when the phone rang.

"I got it!" I yelled, sprinting down the hall and sliding into the family room.

I practically pounced on the phone, making my brother look at me in surprise. Normally I'd groan at him to get it, but at least now he didn't have to get out of his chair. And no shocker, it was just who I thought it was.

"Hey. It's me. I'm bored. Wanna hang out?" came Peter's brisk voice.

"Uh, yeah," I replied eagerly, "Where are you?"

"At home, but I can be there in like ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" I echoed, "Seems a bit slow for you, Pete."

"Well I'm driving my mom's car, so I figured why not."

"Are you allowed to take her car?"

"Heh. No," he snickered on the other end, "But that's part of the fun you mentioned—doing things old school. Besides, she carpooled to work today and she's staying late, so she won't miss it.

"Okay, sounds good. Just um…" I paused to make sure my brother was still absorbed in the news, "…Make sure to be out of sight. I'll be ready in a minute, I'm still in my pajamas."

"Sounds hot," he said in a blank tone.

"Shut up," I laughed and hung up.

Luckily, my brother didn't ask any questions about the call, but he did ask questions about where I was going when I tried to sneak past the living room to the door. When he asked, my answer was a sharp yet vague "out."

"Well where exactly?" he pressed, "It doesn't have to be the truth, just a good enough alibi if someone comes looking for you."

He didn't need to look away from the TV to see that I looked confused.

"I know you stole those headphones, whether you admit it or not. If someone comes knockin' about it, I'd like a good lie to tell them," he droned over the morning news.

"I'm out buying your cigarettes; how does that sound?" I snapped.

"Ooh, I like that alibi," Jordan whistled.

Like I'd ever fuel his habit. The few "Don't Smoke" PSA's that ran weren't very effective especially since all the cigarette commercials did such a good job at making their products look appealing. But for me, just seeing a smoker's face was enough to deter me from smoking for life. My brother was already starting to get his smoker wrinkles, so he looked like he was in his late 30s rather than late 20s. I merely gave a disgruntled groan and then left the house, finding Peter waiting at the next house down.

"Morning!" I waved to him.

He just answered with a small wave in return. I stopped in front of him, excitedly rocking back and forth on my heels with an eager grin.

"So what are we doing today?" I asked.

"I was uh…" he said casually as he headed for the car, "…Thinkin' we could go bet on some ponies."

My whole face lit up in excitement at the mention of ponies. I never had the wheels much less the permission to go to a horse race myself! I always wanted to throw money at equines in hopes they could outrun one another all while cheating the system!

"Really?" I beamed, "Where?"

"Belmont Park," he answered simply, taking a seat behind the driver's wheel and throwing some shades over his eyes.

I practically flung myself into the passenger seat next to him, a huge smile still plastered on my face. Folding my hands expectantly, I waited for him to start the car. Peter turned the key and revved the Cadillac's engine before slamming on the gas and speeding down the street. It was one of those models with the top that could go up and down, so I had the wind blowing through my hair the whole drive. The radio played Michael Jackson in the background as I bobbed my head to the music and watched block after block go by.

"Is this how you usually spend your summers?" I called over to him.

Peter laughed and shook his head, "Honestly, no. I don't have many friends at home and those that I do have here usually just want to hang out at bars. Nothing exciting like this!"

"So all you do is steal things and sell them out of your mom's basement?" I glanced over to him.

"I mean…" he shrugged, "…There is this institute up in Salem Center that I'm living at now. It's a place for 'gifted youngsters,' but basically mutants. I went there this year and decided to stick around, maybe help some of the kids, teach 'em not to burn down their own house with their powers. I actually made some good friends there, but I didn't want to drag any of them with me here. I figured I'd come back for a bit of the summer to visit my mom, you know, see if she pretends like she misses me! What about you?"

I kicked back in my seat, putting my feet up on the dashboard and placing my hands behind my head.

"You're lookin' at it!" I cheered.

By the time we hit the highway, we were singing (more like screaming) along to "Wild Thing" by The Troggs as Peter drove with reckless abandon through the lanes. He drove a lot like he lived, like everything was a race and like spending a second going too slow was a second wasted. He went 90 down the fast lane, swerving around anyone who was going too slow. I had never gone that fast before especially since I didn't even own a license—just an expired permit.

"Hey by the way!" I shouted over the wind and music, "Do you have a license?"

Peter just answered by handing me a card with his face on it. I checked the date, registration number, and even a few graphic nuances to make sure it wasn't fake. The only thing suspicious about it was that his hair was much shorter and brown. The photo was taken 5 years ago.

"Well, there's one thing you didn't steal!" I handed it back to him.

"I'm just surprised it hasn't been revoked yet!" he laughed, picking up to 95 and crossing four lanes to reach the exit ramp.

The car came to an abrupt halt in the Belmont parking lot, making us both jolt forward in our seats. I dragged my fingers through my wind-raggled hair, trying to fix it after that wild ride. Meanwhile, Peter took off his biker goggles and gave a loud "woo!"

"Is that what it's like when you use your powers?"

He shifted the gear to park and yanked up the emergency break, shooting me a sly look.

"A lot faster than that," he remarked.

We hopped out of the car and looked out at the giant racing stadium buzzing with people and music. It looked pretty crowded, but that was probably because it was weekend. We both paid the five-dollar admission, which was a little off for us. But we didn't want to end up getting caught before our fun had even started, and besides, we were planning on walking out with 100 times the admission fee! Since I had never been to a horse race before, I was relying on Peter to explain everything.

"Here's where you'd place your bets," he pointed out the teller at the counter, "But we won't be doing that."

"Why not? Isn't that how you win?" I asked.

"Yeah, but right before the races end, I'll zip in here and add your name next to the winner," he explained, pointing to the list of horses on the wall.

As I scanned the rows of names, I asked, "Why just my name?"

"Because you look pretty normal. Tellers see a lot of people on race day, so they'll buy it if a college student says they placed a bet. A 27-year-old loser wearing silver and biker goggles, though? They'd remember me and they'd know that I didn't place a bet."

"Huh. You've got this all figured out," I smiled up at him.

"Been doing this routine a long time," he placed a hand on my shoulder.

With that, Peter headed off for the stands and I followed close behind. Lots of people lined the halls of the stadium, smoking and discussing which horses were looking good that day. Some were even exchanging money back and forth, sometimes even trading rings and pocket watches! I made a mental note to come back here for pickpocketing.

As Peter walked the halls, searching for good seats on the edge of the stands, I spotted a plaque on the wall. It read: _"No Mutant Powers Allowed—Including Foresight."_ I couldn't help but gulp and crease my brow at the sign. It was just like the news coverage from that morning, talking about mutants like animals that weren't allowed in certain places unless kept on a tight leash. I stopped to look at the sign and after a second, Peter noticed I wasn't following him anymore. When he turned around, he saw me staring up at it with worried, brown eyes.

"Robin?" he called.

I gasped, snapping out of my thoughts and quickly ran to catch up with him.

"Aren't you…you know, a little uncomfortable?" I mumbled as we continued on.

"About what?" he asked, eyes still roaming for seats.

"You know, that sign?" I gestured towards the plaque.

Arching his neck back to see it, he studied it for a moment before shrugging and going about his business.

"Not really," he said simply, "We're gonna be breaking that rule anyway."

"No, I mean like…" I sighed, finding it difficult to explain, "Don't you ever feel uncomfortable being out in public when you're…you know…what you are? There's signs and ads all over about it and it doesn't bug you that you're…the target audience?"

"Nah," he shook his head, "Hardly anyone ever figures it out anyway. Not quick enough to catch me use 'em."

But that wasn't the point. It wasn't about hiding his powers, but simply having them. He had to at least feel a little outcast and removed from common society. When things like that sign were everywhere reminding him and many other mutants that they weren't considered part of the human race and never would be, how could they remain so calm? As for me, it was a cruel reminder that I was hanging around a social pariah.

Our time at Belmont Park turned out to be the best time I had ever had at a horse race! Yeah, it was my first time at one, but I'm sure no other visit could top that one. The roar of the crowds, the thundering hooves, and the fast-paced narration of the announcer filled my ears, making me sit on the edge of my seat in anticipation. And then when the ponies came around to finish their lap, my heart would speed up as I tried to pick out which one would take home the gold. I would frantically grab Peter's arm, saying things like "the red one! It's gonna be the red one!" or "Number 6, it's Number 6!" Then he would use his super speed to go and write my name and an amount of money down in the ledger.

And just like he said, the teller didn't look at me twice when I walked up and claimed I had put money on the winner. By the time we walked out of there, it was 2 pm and we were both 300 dollars richer! Peter even said we would go out to lunch someplace nice with our new money. Sure, we looked nothing like the type that would dine at an upscale New York restaurant, what with Peter's silver jacket and my baggy jeans, but they let us in so long as we had the money.

"Wait, wait, so your best friend back at the institute is blue?" I laughed in disbelief from across the table.

"Sure is," Peter said as he finished off the last of his meal.

Maximoff must have had metabolism as fast as his powers because for the amount he ate, he never once seemed to gain a pound!

"And he can teleport," he added, "We've got all kinds of oddities there. Maybe one day they'll let you come and visit."

"You think?" I smiled dreamily, imagining the mansion of a school Peter had described, "I'd even get to meet the one guy with the shades you mentioned?"

"Scott? Yeah, I think you two would get along," he nodded, "But don't get any ideas, he's got a girlfriend."

"Pfft!" I shook my head, waving my hands dismissively, "What do you mean? I wasn't implying—"

"Mhm, of course ya weren't," he teased before suddenly getting up from the table, "Well, I'm gonna go pay for the meal. Wait here and I'll bring the car around."

As I finished off my Pepsi, I watched him go, my eyes lingering on his ass for a few moments. Not a second after a few devious thoughts entered my brain did I vigorously shake my head, trying to get the idea out of my head. No, he was just a friend, I shouldn't have been objectifying him like that. But then again, who's to say he hadn't been doing the same to me? After all, we were two youths living life on the edge in the middle of summer—thoughts like that were bound to surface every once in a while.

I was brought out of my ponderings when I heard a loud honk outside the restaurant. When I looked out the window, I saw Peter waiting outside in the topless Cadillac with the engine all ready to go. I got up from our table and headed for the exit, but I was abruptly stopped by one of the hoity toity waiters.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but you need to pay for your meal," he pointed out.

My thought process froze for a moment as I stared at the waiter in confusion. Then I whipped my head around towards the exit, seeing Peter still waiting in the Cadillac. He had on his signature shit-eating grin. That son of a bitch…

"U-Um…" I stammered.

"The gentleman said you would pay," the waiter said impatiently.

I did another set of double takes, my head jerking back and forth between the waiter's expectant face and Peter honking the car horn. I was about to reach into my bag for the money when I remembered Peter was holding on to all of it! Fffff… This guy really new how to make me flustered.

"Uh…o-of course!" I exclaimed, pretending to dig through my satchel for a wallet, "I mean, urm—"

I cast another look outside where Peter was practically laying on the horn for me to hurry up. At that point, I knew what he wanted to see me do.

"I mean, what do I like to you?" I chuckled nervously as I continued to dig, "Someone who would walk out on a—"

I stopped myself midway, making a mad dash for the exit and clutching my bag tightly to my chest! The waiters and the chefs behind me began to shout, chasing after me with bills and kitchen appliances!

"Come on, Robin!" Peter cheered me on, "Run! You can make it!"

I could tell he was having a great time watching this, but I was scared shitless, my sneakers slapping wildly against the concrete.

"You fucking maniac!" I screamed at Peter as I ran.

He started to take off before I even got there and I dove into the backseat just in time for him to floor it and leave the restaurant staff in a cloud of dust! He sped down the street, laughing his ass off, and I took the next minute to lie on the floor of the backseat, catching my breath and processing all that had just happened. When I had gathered my bearings, I picked myself up and emerged behind the passenger seat with a look of shock and messed up hair.

Peter looked back at me and giggled, and at first, I gave him an ominous glare. But after a while, his boyish laughs grew contagious, and I couldn't help but let my lips tug into a grin. The next thing I knew, I was chuckling along with him, and then all out laughing in the backseat as we sped onto the freeway! It had been a while since I had gotten chased down like that. The last time was when I was fourteen, getting away from a bike salesman on a new bike I had just stolen. I had forgotten the rush it gave me and the taste of blood in the back of my mouth from sprinting so hard! It was a small part of being a klepto I had almost forgotten about.

"That's part of the fun, you said," Peter called back between laughs, "Feeling some adrenaline and living dangerously! Did I do a good job?"

"Yeah!" I said as I tried to catch my breath, "That was some fix! You really caught me off guard, Peter!"

We both spend the next few minutes catching our breaths and calming ourselves after a long day of scamming and thieving. When we at last cooled down, Maximoff had slowed down to 75 miles with one arm lazily draped over the steering wheel. I stayed in the backseat, slumped over the back of the passenger seat, tiredly watching him switch lanes as Pink Floyd played softly from the car radio. Then the sounds of distant thunder accompanied the music and rain clouds began to form in the sky.

"Better put the top up," Peter mumbled to himself.

As the roof gradually folded out over the car, I heard a disrupting noise come from the engine.

"What was that?" I spoke up.

"…The top coming over," he said simply.

"No, no that other sound," I shook my head.

"What other sound?"

 _CLUNK. Grind, grind, grind._ The Cadillac shuddered and both our faces took on an expression of dread. Peter's mom's car was breaking down in the middle of a suburban New York highway. The car began to lose speed, but luckily Peter pulled it over in the shoulder lane before it completely crapped out. When it came to a complete halt, he let out a sigh and slumped his shoulders. As if it couldn't get any worse, the rain began to pour down on the roof of the car, and it was far from a pleasant drizzle.

"Want me to go out and check?" I asked as I bit my lip.

"No point," he grumbled, "Might as well wait for the rain to stop. Besides, I don't want the engine to get wet."

"Ok…" I mumbled, falling back into the backseat.

And just like that, our day of fun had been ended by a bad motor and an unprecedented forecast. We sat there for quite a while, waiting for the summer storm to let up as the rain pelted against the windows. The radio had even stopped playing good songs. A good while into our waiting game, Peter suddenly cursed and slammed his forehead into the steering wheel.

"Shit..." he groaned, then slammed his fist on the dashboard, chanting, "Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit_! My mom's gonna kill me…"

"What? What is it?" I asked.

"It's 5," he pointed out, "My mom will have gotten back from work by now."

Upon checking the car's clock, I saw that it was in fact 5 pm sharp. Another old feeling settled inside me, one that I hadn't felt for even longer. It was that sense of "I'm fucked" I'd get whenever I'd get caught stealing and couldn't get away. It was in these rare moments that I'd run a hand down my face and regret every decision I made. Except this time it wasn't me that was getting in trouble, it was Peter. A bitter side of guilt accompanied that feeling. It was Peter who would be suffering from my bad influence. Sure, it was his idea to go out that day, but it was my idea to reteach him how to steal and scam my way. If he had it his way, he would have scammed Belmont and sped back home by himself without the need of stealing his mom's car. But here we were…

"I'm sorry, Peter…" I whispered sadly from the backseat.

Peter just let out an exasperated sigh and threw his head back over the driver's seat, staring up at the car roof.

"How do you do it?" he asked blankly.

"What?"

"Why do you do it?" he looked at me this time, "Why do you steal 'old school' if you know something like this could happen? You have a constant risk of getting caught but you still try it anyways; it seems pretty dumb to me. If you were smart, you would have had me do all this for you and bring back to money myself."

I opened my mouth to give a quick-witted response, but I held my tongue before I could speak. I felt like I'd need something more meaningful to explain.

Crossing my arms, I asked, "Peter, do you read?"

"Huh?" he winced.

"I'm asking if you read," I repeated.

"Not much," he shrugged.

Stretching my legs and laying myself out over the entire backseat, I said, "Me neither. But it's always fun to read adventure books. They give you the summary to start, but you never know how it's gonna end. I mean, you _assume_ it's gonna end happily, but you don't know that for sure."

Folding my hands behind my head, I continued, "You could always skip to the end, but then you know what's gonna happen, and the rest of the fun adventures seem moot. They don't put you on edge or get you excited or scared or sympathetic for the characters. You've already spoiled it for yourself, so what's the point? I guess that's just me and stealing. I like having that risk always looming above my head to make things more exciting. That way there's some adventure to everything I do. And sure, sometimes the story doesn't have a happy ending…but at least you can look back on the fun times you had along the way."

For once, Peter didn't have anything to say in response. He just stared at the floor of the car, lost in thought.

"I'm sure they're great and all, but doesn't it get boring sometimes with your powers?" I asked softly, "Knowing that no matter what you do, it'll always end in success? That the story will end the same way every time?"

He remained silent for a few moments more. It seemed like I had really given him something to think about when suddenly took in a sharp breath.

"Well this story's gonna end with my mom yelling at me," he said bluntly and opened the car door.

I noticed the rain had finished, leaving for an opening to get to work on the car. I followed him outside where I found him examining the engine under the car's hood.

"You know anything about cars?" he asked disgruntledly as he stared at the sparking car parts.

"A bit. You?"

"A bit."

"Good!" I smiled, trying to lighten the mood, "A bit plus a bit equals an adequate amount of knowledge! I'll check the trunk for something that can help."

After almost an hour of noodling around in the hood of the car, swears coming from the both of us, and the occasional "my mom's gonna kill me" from Peter, we finished the job. He booked it home, not saying a word to me the way back. When we reached my street, he stopped a few houses down from my own, silently waiting for me to get out of the car. I was still in the backseat, so I couldn't see his face, but I could tell he was mad.

"…I'm really sorry about this, Peter," I apologized again.

"It's fine," he said in a passive aggressive tone, "It was my idea in the first place. Just…you should just go, I need to get home."

Without another word, I got out of the Cadillac and shut the door. He drove off, the wheels screeching as he picked stepped on the gas, driving like a high school student who stayed out past curfew. I was left on the sidewalk with a bag of 300 dollars, overcast by clouds and feeling like I only had a cent.

AN: So the old school way isn't always 100% a success. Shout out to Erin Means Peace for her lovely review~ She will also be making her own Peter fic, but it'll be an x reader one and it sounds very promising. Also, thank you to anyone who followed or favorited this story.


	4. Stealing Your Time

For the next week I was pretty bummed out, believing I had lost the one klepto friend I managed to make. Throughout that time, I went back and forth in my head, trying to decide if it was all my fault or Peter just being melodramatic. After all, he was an adult, and he shouldn't care what his mom thinks. Then again, I was the one to tell him to "live more on the edge" which led him to take the car in the first place. But Ms. Maximoff wasn't even using the car that day, at least I don't think she was planning to, so what right does she have to get mad at Peter? I stopped myself before I could start blaming his mom. I hadn't even met the woman, and as far as I knew, she could be a total angel!

When he finally called again, I skidded out of my room in my socks and picked up the phone eagerly.

"Robin! Hey!" he rushed his words.

"Hi Peter," I answered awkwardly.

Introductions were briskly out of the way and now we were both left in an awkward silence. I tapped my fingers impatiently on the coffee table, waiting to see if he'd say anything.

"Look, I'm still really sorry about what happened!" I blurted out.

"What? You're still stressing about that?" he tried to laugh it off but then mumbled, "Heh. Um, don't worry about it, I just got an hour-long lecture from my mom."

"Ooh," I cringed, "I'm really—"

"Stop apologizing!" he reassured me, "It's over now, so…"

"Sooo we can get back to stealing?" I chirped excitedly.

"I was thinkin' we could do something more lowkey. Nothing that'll make my mom want to kick me out of the house. Just lay low for now," he chuckled nervously, "Liiiiike, I dunno, if you wanted to come over to my place? I saw your stash, so now you get to see mine."

"Will there be stolen movies to watch?" I asked.

"Yes," I could imagine him rolling his eyes on the other end.

"And stolen vinyls to listen to?"

"You coming or what?"

"Yeah, though I'm gonna need your address first."

Peter lived in a…surprisingly nice neighborhood. I was expecting a teensy home like mine with only a ground floor and maybe a small basement for a loser klepto to live in. But I was surprised when I followed his directions onto a wealthy, modern looking street with modern houses that looked like they came out of those "Higher Living" magazines. His house was in the shape of a large triangle with clean, white bricks and tall, spacious windows. The front yard was lusciously green with well-trimmed bushes and even a rock display that might have been a small waterfall at one point. Maybe this was why he dropped out of college to live in his mom's basement. All that money means no motivation to do anything, so why leave home?

I even double-checked the address to make sure I had the right place. The shiny, black mailbox out front with the word "Maximoff" printed on it was enough to answer my questions. I slowly walked up the steps to the front door, feeling a little intimidated by the size of the house. Even the door was large and intricate with metal patterns forming bars over the glass. Looking down at the welcome mat, I noticed a large skid or burn mark going through the middle. This was definitely where Peter lived. I gave the door a sharp knock, expecting Peter to coming zooming to the door. Instead, a lovely middle-aged woman answered wearing nice makeup and a fancy blouse. My body stiffened up when I realized this was his mom. I was not expecting to meet his parent that day!

She gave me a curious look and crossed her arms, "Can I help you?"

"I'm—uh—looking for Peter," I stuttered, "My name's Robin, I'm a friend of his,"

Looking me up and down, she nodded slowly, "Yeah, he's mentioned you."

Peter talked to his mom about me? He talked to his mom at all? It seemed more like he lived off the warmth of her basement without so much as a word to her. But then again, he did say he came back specifically to visit her, so maybe he was trying to spend more time with her? I noticed how Ms. Maximoff's concerned expression was slowly turning more and more suspicious. She had that look that Jordan gave me when I tried to sell him a bad alibi. I gulped, realizing she was associating me with Peter and I's excursion last week to Belmont Park.

"He…He invited me over," I mumbled quickly, eager to shake her glare off me.

"Well, he's downstairs," she nodded over towards the basement steps, "Don't make too much noise."

"Yes ma'am," I muttered under my breath.

It was my first time meeting Ms. Maximoff and she already disliked me. She probably knew me as the girl who goaded her son into stealing her Cadillac. Going down the first flight of stairs, I noticed all the street signs on the landing, such as "Do Not Enter" or "Stop." He probably nabbed those from street corners. A few skateboards were also hung on the wall of the landing. When I turned and walked down the second flight, I was met with the sound of The Troggs playing in the background on some speakers. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I let my jaw go slack as I stared out on the spacious room crammed full of stolen shit. Some of the stuff looked like it was just down there for storage, like the box of bowling balls or the ping pong table.

But then the other stuff like the stacks of still boxed Kross headphones, the posters and modern art pieces that were stuck to the walls, and the other many other skateboards hanging up there with them. Not to mention all the neon signs which plugs looked like they had been sloppily ripped out of their original outlets. And then the crown jewel was all the way at the end of the room. The entire wall was lined with stacks upon stacks of junkfood. Ding Dongs, Hohos, Pringles, Twinkies, Cup Cakes, and anything an avid snacker could ever want! Placed just next to that were a cluster of shoplifted TVs and radios, all with the pricetags and stickers still on them. I just stared, taking it all in until I heard that familiar _whoosh_ of the klepto himself zooming up to me.

"Trying to catch flies in your mouth, Robin?" he quipped with a smirk.

I just pushed past him, staring at his wall of loot. This made my cramped, little room look like amateur work!

"Is all of this—whoa!"

I was stopped mid-sentence when I slipped on a ping pong ball and fell flat on my back like a helpless turtle! Peter's stifled laughter could be heard just behind me.

"Sorry about that," he giggled, "Thought I cleaned this place better."

"It's fine," I groaned as I pulled myself off the floor, "So all of this is stolen?"

"Most of it," he shrugged, "I mean, a lot of the decorations are paid for, but everything on that wall is 100% lifted."

I ran over to the wall he was talking about, running my hand up and down the rows and rows of snack foods.

"And you sell these to your black market friends?" I asked.

"Just the TVs and electronics," he shrugged, "The food I keep for myself. I eat a lot."

"No kidding."

"Hey, my powers give me increased metabolism," he pointed out, walking over to the wall next to me, "Might as well enjoy it. Speaking of, I have some limited-edition chocolate Twinkies I've been saving…"

Then he started to search the wall of snacks, looking for the particular nack. As he searched, I let my eyes wander over to the other side of the basement where I spotted something shiny. My fleeting klepto mind just had to know what it was, so I allowed myself to wander over to it. Under a leather jacket, I find a silver emblem in the shape of an "X." It had bits of fabric hanging off it, implying that it had fallen off a blazer or something. I noticed the other things it was sitting with: pamphlets, papers, and fine letter paper.

The first thing I picked out was a worn business card with the words _"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters"_ printed on it as well as the address and the name of the head professor. That must have been the "institute" Peter talked about. Maybe the "X" was the school's emblem. There was also a brochure for the school which I quickly flipped through, catching a few glimpses of campus. Just under that was a letter written to Peter in neat, eligible cursive. It talked about how things were going back at "the mansion" as well as a few updates on "Jean and Scott." But then it went on to ask about Maximoff's mom and why he was choosing to stay longer. According to the sender, he was only supposed to be away for a week!

 _"You didn't give a reason for wanting to stay, and I suppose that's your own business,"_ the letter read, _"But things are getting dull around the institute without you. Some of the kids are starting to ask about you, and I still want that race!"_

Apparently, someone by the name of "Storm" wanted to do a few test simulations in the "Danger Room" with him, too. I didn't even want to know what that meant. It closed with a reminder to tell him and the others when he was planning to come back so they could help him move all his extra stuff.

"Sincerely, Kurt…" I read softly as I finished the letter.

My eyes dropped to the floor. Peter really did have a lot of friends back at the institute. And as for home, he really only had me, and I hadn't exactly shown him the best of times. Why would he want to stay in his boring home town with his nagging mom when he could go back and be with his own kind? Meanwhile, Peter was picking out snacks and movies for us.

"You're not allergic to anything are you?" he called as I was absorbed in his personal life, "I'll take the silence as a 'no.' Do you like Nutty Bars by the way? I know some people don't. Robin? Oh, and I have a ton of movies, so just say the word on what you wanna watch. I've got _Jaws_ and _Dawn of the Dead_ if _Alien_ wasn't enough to scare ya…Robin?"

He finally noticed I had gone off on my own and was now snooping. _Zip!_ He sped up next to me, making me yelp and drop the letter. I gave him a wide-eyed look knowing full well I had been caught red-handed. He held a half-eaten Twinkie in one hand and a VHS under the same arm.

"Urm…I—sorry," I stammered out, "I can't keep my hands off stuff…you know, kleptomania and all that…"

Peter just picked the letter up from the ground and tossed it back on the table where I found it.

"No big deal," he shrugged, "That's from my blue friend you know. Don't know why he doesn't just call. He's so old fashioned."

He strutted off over to the center of the room where one of the many stolen TVs was hooked up with a VHS player. I couldn't help but feel an awkward tension beginning to settle.

"They seem to miss you," I spoke up, "Why don't you go back?"

"Back where?" he grunted as he nudged the TV a few times.

"The institute," I said, "Your friends seem to miss you, so…why don't you go back?"

He finally got the TV to turn on, so he popped the tape in and stood up from the floor.

Giving me a blank expression, he merely shrugged, "Cuz I'm visiting my mom."

"No, I mean…" I sighed, walking over to him, "Why are you staying longer? Look, I know I shouldn't have snooped, but your friend said you were gonna be back sooner. If you don't like living here, why don't you just go back?"

He just said plainly, "Because I'm hanging out with you."

Whoever watched the tape last forgot to rewind it, so Peter flopped onto the couch, tapping on the remote as the entire film played in reverse. I couldn't help but feel like a bit of a weight holding him back. He had a whole other life out there and here I was pinning him to home. Maybe it was supposed to flatter me that he was staying because of me, but it felt more like a burden.

Glancing over at me, Peter noticed my worried expression, "I'm here cuz I wanna be, not because you're forcing me."

"I know but—"

"It's fun hanging out with you, Robin. If I go back to mansion now, I won't be back here until _next_ summer," he shrugged then patted the seat cushion next to him, "So let's make the most of it now while we can."

I stood there a few more moments until I cracked a little smirk and added, "You say as you sit on the couch eating a Twinkie."

"Hey! I told ya we gotta lay low," he said through a mouthful of yellow cake.

"I know, I know," I rolled my eyes as I took a seat next to him, "We'll get back to thievery next time. Speaking of which…"

I reached into my bag and pulled out my rolls of blueprint paper and my filled-out notepad, spreading them out on the coffee table. Peter took one look at all my intricate plans and his eyes widened. Pausing the movie mid-rewind, he leaned in for a better look.

"Wow," he gaped, "You put a lot of thought into this stuff."

"Yep," I bragged, "My heists are always well planned. These are a bunch of potential jobs we could pull, but I highly suggest _this_ one."

I tapped my finger on the map of the motorcycle dealership. Since I stole my first baseball card as a kid, it was my dream to steal a motorcycle—even if for just a joyride!

"Motorcycles, huh?" he licked his lips, "Thinkin' big here. Have you ever driven one?"

"One of my brother's friends owns one and I've driven it a few times," I shrugged, "So kinda?"

" _But_ I know you don't care about that right now!" I grinned as I suddenly rolled them back up.

Peter tried to stop me from putting them away, but I shoved them back into my bag before he could. At least he wasn't trying to use his powers on me.

"Nope!" I teased, "You said we're layin' low for now, so no talk of stealing!"

"You're a buzzkill," he rolled his eyes playfully.

"Me?" I said in mock offense, "Such an accusation—hey!"

My act was cut short when he chucked the cardboard VHS box at me. After I fumbled with the box, I read the title of the movie he picked out. Despite all his talk of horror films, he had chosen _Mad Max._ It had been a while since I had seen it since I didn't own it myself. The first time I saw it was when Thomas brought it over. It was just as hectic and action-packed as I remember it, though. About midway through, though, we both started to fade a little. The sugar from the Ding Dongs was starting to wear off and seeing the same cars ram into each other was beginning to lose its charm.

"Hey Robin?" I heard Peter say.

"Yeah?" I asked, my eyes glued to the TV.

"What's your last name?"

"Huh?" I turned to him with a puzzled look.

"Just curious. You know mine, but I don't know yours," he shrugged simply.

Fair enough, I thought. Though it was always awkward telling people at first. After a few seconds of silence on my part, I answered him.

"…It's Banks." I said.

"Banks…" Peter nodded slowly.

I was hoping he wouldn't notice, but then…

"Hold on," I heard him snicker, "So your name is—"

"Don't say it," I warned him.

By the way his lips were all screwed up, I could tell he was trying his best to hold back from laughing. I just shot him a deadpan expression of "don't you dare" to try and shut him up.

"So…So you're—"

"Don't fucking say it!" I exclaimed, hitting my fist on the arm of the couch.

But the little chucklefuck couldn't help himself.

"It's—"

"Peter, I'm warning you! I told you my last name, now _zip it_."

"Robin Banks," he giggled quietly before kicking his legs up and down like a child.

That was it! Growing up with an older brother trained me well in the arts of rough-housing, so I threw myself on him and knocked himself off the couch.

"Robin Banks!" he laughed louder as I tackled him to the ground, "Your name is Robin Banks! Robin' Banks! Hahahaha!"

"Shut the fuck up, Maximoff!" I couldn't help but laugh myself as I pummeled him in the chest.

"Bahahaha! That sounds like a dumb comic book name!" he continued to guffaw, his voice echoing throughout the basement.

Even though I was teased about it incessantly in school, it was the one thing I could actually chuckle along with. It was a pretty funny coincidence. My mom really didn't think twice when she picked out my first name. My own laughter became difficult to contain. I rolled off him, sitting up against the couch as I tried to catch my breath. When Peter finally stopped laughing his ass off, he couldn't restrain himself from saying my name one more time and repeating the cycle all over again. So I had to wait another minute for the idiot to get over himself. There went Ms. Maximoff's request for some quiet.

"I will never look at your name the same way again," he sighed as he wiped a tear from laughing so much.

All I could do was stifle a laugh and say, "Fuck you."

 **AN: Thank you for all your follows and favorites! Don't forget to leave a comment, though, and please no salvation spam this time ^^;. I'm trying to get across the complication of a human dating an X-Men. They aren't nearly as tough or important, so they might feel as though they're holding them back from their important mutant life. Hope I'm getting that across, and if not, there are many more chapters to come~**


	5. Stealing a Kiss

I left Peter's house after the movie with a box of Hohos he gave me and even a movie he "lent" me. I was gonna see if I could conveniently "lose" it in my room when he asked for it back. But the day had gone pretty slow for me, and as much as I tried to fight the urge, by 9 pm, I couldn't wait. I _needed_ to steal something. Luckily, Jordan was too busy in the kitchen with his friends to notice me leave. I figured I could just hop down to the gas station and take a soda or two…maybe some candy…a lottery ticket…It's a little embarrassing to say, but all you need to know is that there was a new surveillance camera I didn't know about and the owner already knew I was full of shit, so he was excited to catch me…then I got body slammed. So…basically I got caught.

It was a petty gas station run! Were they really so attached to the Pepsi bottle I was trying to take? And as I sat there cuffed to a chair in the police station, they pulled up my past criminal record which was far from stellar. I had been caught stealing several times, a majority of the time I got away and couldn't be 100% proved guilty. But the officer seemed very pleased to finally have me.

"Good fuckin' job," I muttered in a disgruntled tone, "Caught me stealing a _soda_."

They asked me so many questions and yelled at me so much! My guess was that they couldn't get a warrant to search my house, so they were trying to interrogate me about any stolen goods I had. After about three hours of playing "good cop, bad cop," digging through my old files, and taking my mugshot, I was finally given the chance to make a call. Even though Jordan was my legal guardian, I didn't want to call him. It had been years since he had to do this routine, and I certainly didn't want to give him a refresher on the process. Not to mention I had been on thin ice with him lately. So, if I called Jordan, I'd be dead. Who else could I call? Dad was out of state as always, Thomas was too much of a blabber-mouth to keep a secret, and…hang on.

I suddenly lurched for the phone, furiously dialing the number in mind. Meanwhile, Peter was sound asleep on the futon in his basement, the TV playing a comfortable static in the background. His sleep was rudely interrupted when the phone rang from upstairs. He just mumbled a few grumpy, inaudible things and burrowed deeper under the blankets. Peter just figured his mom would get it. And just when he thought it stopped ringing, it rang again. His tired face popped off the mattress, his silver hair all messy. Groaning, he sat up and checked the time. Midnight. Who could possibly be wanting to call at midnight?!

As the phone's jarring ringing continued, the idea of the institute popped into his head. What if they were trying to reach him regarding some kind of emergency? With that thought in mind, he zoomed upstairs and grabbed of the phone, slurring a tired, "Maximoff residence," into the speaker.

"Peter!" I sighed in relief, "Thank God you picked up! So, I know this is a little awkward, and I hate having to call you this late at night, but if I called my brother I'd be in sooo much trouble! I mean, I don't even know how this happened, I'm usually not this careless—"

"Woah, woah, woah," I heard him yawn, "Slow down, slow down, Robin."

That was the only time I heard him say _those_ words.

"I just woke up a few seconds ago," he mumbled, "Just…tell me what happened, ok?"

"I…sort of got caught stealing?" I cringed as I said it, "And I need you to come bail me out?"

There was a painful silence that followed. Nobody wanted this news at 12 at night, and certainly not Peter. He was probably facepalming at my stupidity right about now.

"I-I'm sorry, Peter," I stammered, "I'd call Jordan but he'd put me under house arrest for a week over this!"

"So? You're an adult, that shouldn't bug you," he retorted.

"You don't understand, my brother thinks I need 'help,' so he thinks locking me in the house is a beneficial punishment for my 'mania,'" I groaned.

"Urgh…" I heard him let out an irritated moan on the other end.

He really didn't want to drag himself out of the house to come get me. Plus, picking me up meant driving me since it wasn't exactly healthy for a human to be sped around that much. I also hadn't thought how troublesome it would be for Peter to go into a police station. He probably had his fair share of run-ins with the law, so they wouldn't be happy to see him either.

"I know…But this stuff happens when you steal old school," I mumbled.

"How much is the bail?"

"320…"

"I'm gonna hope that's three dollars and twenty cents," he droned.

"Nope. Three-hundred and twenty dollars, man," I winced.

"Where am I supposed to get that?" he shot.

"I mean, have you spent the money you won at Belmont?" I asked cautiously.

He groaned again, knowing where this was going.

"I know, but I promise I'll give you my winnings in return!" I pled, "Please don't leave me here! Kleptos gotta look out for each other right?"

"Yeah…yeah ok," his voice sounded clearer the more he woke up, "Fine, I'll come get you."

First, he distanced himself from his friends for me, now he was waking up in the dead of night for me. If I didn't feel like a burden before, I sure as hell did now. About twenty minutes later, the officer came back to my cell with a set of keys.

"Banks," he said as he unlocked my cell, "Your boyfriend's here."

"He's not my boyfriend," I growled as I stormed out of the cell.

"Hey, you watch it, Banks!" the officer snapped as he grabbed my arm, "We catch you again, and the next time you won't get to make a call. You understand?"

"Yes _sir_ ," I sassed as I pulled my arm free.

I found Peter waiting for me by the exit, tapping his foot impatiently. Even though it was him and not Jordan, I still couldn't help but feel ashamed. I couldn't even look him in the eye as I trudged over to him.

"Come on," he mumbled as he walked out the door.

I followed quietly until we got into the car. Peter usually had dark circles under his eyes, but they looked even worse now.

"I'm sorry…" I muttered yet again.

"Hey, I'm not the one who has to give up their race winnings," he gave a light chuckle.

"I'll pay you back soon, I promise…"

After a short silence, he added, "Next time…try to wait for me to be there."

I gave him a puzzled look, and I was surprised to see him bow his head and run a hand through his hair like he was blushing. Neither of us expected him to say something so protective.

"Uh, I mean," he cleared his throat, "Jobs are easier to pull when it's the two of us. Plus, I can get us out if anything goes wrong. I know you like the old school, Robin, but…sometimes it's more trouble than it's worth."

I drew my legs in close, trying to make myself as small as possible. For a few minutes we drove in silence until he spoke again.

"What exactly did you get caught trying to take?" he yawned.

"A…A bottle of Pepsi…" I mumbled.

"Pftah!" he guffawed, doubling over the steering wheel.

"Oh, shut up!" I whined, "They had a new security camera I didn't know about!"

"A bottle of Pepsi…" he chuckled as he shook his head as we pulled onto my street.

"Thanks, I'll pay you back in the morning," I sighed.

"Well you can pay me back my money, but I'm never getting that one hour of sleep back," he said, a devious glint in his eye, "You still owe me something for that at least."

As he pulled up to the curb, I nodded, "Fair enough. What do you want?"

"Oooh, I dunno," he hummed, stroking his chin, "I mean anything really, like you could lend me your Atari, or babysit my lil' sis for me, or…"

As he spoke, I noticed the fingers stroking his chin began to skim his lips. At first I was just imagining it until he actually licked his lips and gave me an expectant look.

"Fuck no," I facepalmed, "Fucking no!"

"Oh, come on!" he begged.

"Nope, no. Absolute not!" I shook my head, "Think of something else."

"I'm tryin' but all the others involve you more than just kissing me,"

"You pervert!" I laughed, punching him in the side.

"Ow!" he flinched back from my strike, continuing to laugh.

But when the laughs died down, we were left in awkward silence. My fingers rested on the car handle, wondering if I should just leave. Peter was a dorky guy to most, and not the kind of person a normal girl would want to kiss. But I liked the losers and the socially inept, so I certainly wouldn't mind…Nah. I smirked, throwing the car door open and making a run for it. Only a few feet away from the car and Peter zoomed in front of me, that same smug look on his face.

"Cheater," I scoffed.

"Come oooon, Robin," he begged, "Please? I had to go into the belly of the beast for you—the one place a klepto hates. I think I deserve this—ack!"

He was stopped midway as I socked him in the stomach, making him double over. I always seemed to astonish him with how well I could throw a hit.

"You also deserve _that_!" I retorted.

After he finished wheezing and regaining his composure, he looked me in the eye with that smarmy look that I just couldn't get off his face no matter how many times I punched him.

"You didn't want a kiss when you saved me from the music store," I argued, crossing my arms.

"Who's to say I just didn't ask for one?" he shrugged.

He said it so casually, yet it sent a sudden flash of heat through me, my cheeks beginning to burn. I was thankful it was night and that he couldn't see me in full detail. Peter was treating this like a joke, but I was suddenly taking it too seriously. Shaking my head, I tried to remind myself to just play along; we were just too friends trying to get back at each other. Nothing else.

I let out a sigh and took a gulp. Then I rushed up to him, placing a brisk kiss on the corner of his mouth and quickly pulling away. It was hardly much of anything, but judging by the comedic way Peter shut his eyes and smiled like a Disney princess, I'd say he was satisfied.

"Is that you, Prince Charming?" he joked.

"Fuck you, Maximoff…" I giggled, storming past him for my mouse.

I was mad, but that funny kind of mad that you get only at a friend.

"Good night to you, too, Robin!" he called.

"Night!" I called back.

I snuck in through the kitchen window, careful not to knock any dishes over and to close the window pane slowly. From there, I stepped cautiously through the hall, watching to avoid the spots that creaked. Fortunately, I made it to my room without detection, though I would have to keep my lights out in case my brother noticed them on. I undressed in the dark, throwing my jeans and T-shirt across the room in the general vicinity of my hamper. Tiptoeing over to my dresser, I made sure not to step on any vinyl cases I left lying about. As I felt around the drawers for some pajamas, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at the top of the dresser.

It may have been too dark to see a blush, but all I need was the dim streetlight from outside my window to reveal my flustered expression: my auburn eyes wide and my lips slightly ajar as I breathed erratically. Slapping my hands on my face, I tried to get myself to snap out of it. I was in college! I wasn't some stupid grade school kid who was supposed to get flustered from pecking a guy—not even on the lips—on the corner of his mouth! After I sufficiently slapped any sentimental feelings out of my system, I found myself some pajamas and collapsed in bed. Maybe it was the fact that he was 8 years older than me that got me. I had never done anything like that with someone so much older, so that could be why I was so freaked out. Yeah, that must have been it.

Meanwhile, Peter went back to the car. Hopefully he wouldn't get caught stealing his mom's car a second time. It was just a joke, but for some reason, he couldn't get the feeling of my lips off the corner of his mouth where I kissed him. Driving home, he kept tapping that corner of his mouth. He kept telling himself how dumb it was, but every time he did, he couldn't help but smile. By the time he got home and sneaked back into the basement, he concluded that he shouldn't feel that way about Robin. She was just a friend, not to mention nearly a decade younger than him! It wasn't as bad as it would be if he were 30-something, but it still felt odd to him. Peter didn't want to end up chasing a girl younger than him, much less one with a family who were severely anti-mutant and anti-klepto.


	6. Stealing a Motorcycle

Stupid pink ghost. It always screwed Peter up whenever he thought he was winning. Letting out a sigh, he turned off the Pac-Man machine and took a step back. How long had he been playing that? He glanced over at the coffee table where Robin's notes and plans were laid out. She had made copies for him of their motorcycle heist and dropped them off that morning. Her instructions were to read through the notes thoroughly, mark anything that didn't make sense, and know his placement on the map by heart.

There were a few things hastily scribbled on the papers in red pen—little last-minute notes that she had made. They seemed to incorporate his powers slightly into their plan. With all the trouble she had gotten herself into lately from stealing old-school, she probably figured it was time to let Peter shine. Peter was eager to finally show off his powers to Robin some more. He had already jotted down some suggestions in her plans to incorporate even _more_ of his super speed than she had.

He was just about to go back to reviewing the plans when he heard him mom coming down the stairs. In one quick _whoosh_ the plans were swiftly hidden away and Peter was sitting on the couch listening to his Walkman. When his mom reached the bottom of the stairs, she called for him, but he pretended not to hear. The second time, he took off his headphones and glanced over at her.

"Need something?" he asked.

"Yeah, I wanted to talk," she nodded.

"Go ahead," he shrugged.

Leaning up against the stair railing, she said, "You were only supposed to stay a week, but then you told me a few days ago that you wanted to stay longer. Can you tell me how much longer?"

"Can't wait to get rid of me?" Peter chuckled, "Um, I dunno, maybe about a half a week more. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, no, it's fine," she cleared her throat in that disapproving mom way, "Just wondering what changed your mind."

"I'm hangin' out with Robin," he answered simply, fiddling with the buttons on his Walkman, "I mean, if I go back to Westchester, I won't be able to find time to come back until next summer."

"It's always a girl…" Ms. Maximoff couldn't help but smirk and nod along.

"Mom, it's not like that," he shot a rather offended glare her way.

"Okay, okay," she backed off the subject, but then added, "It's just that you have responsibilities at the institute now—Look, I know you're an adult and you don't want to hear this speech, but I figured you might need some reminding is all."

"Consider me reminded," he went to put his headphones back on.

" _Peter_ ," she said more firmly this time.

Looking back at her, he rolled his eyes, "I only sub for a few classes a week. Besides, there's even less work now that it's summer break."

Though, there was practicing in the Danger Room, but he figured the other X-Men could wait a little longer.

"It's not that, it's…" she bit her lip in concern, "It's that Robin girl. Just be careful around her."

He gave her confused look. Peter was a mutant so usually it was _other_ people telling _their_ kids to be careful around _him_!

"I know you took the car last night," she admitted, crossing her arms, "I'm not mad, just..."

After a long-winded sigh, Ms. Maximoff mumbled, "Robin called the house twice that night, and the first time, she left a message."

Peter got that "oh-shit-I'm-busted" look. But despite her exasperated demeanor, his mom didn't seem too angry.

"It was good of you to get her out of prison," she explained, "But…she could end up dragging you in there with her if you're not careful. Never thought I'd say this, Peter, but I'd prefer you do whatever crime you do fast—the way you normally do it. At least then you won't get caught. Robin's been making you slow down, and I've already caught you twice."

"You're used to cops asking for me," he retorted.

"Just think about it, Peter," she put her hand out to halt any argument that could potentially occur, "Maybe going back to the institute would be good for you."

On that note, Ms. Maximoff went back up the stairs. At first, Peter slid his headphones back on and was about to go back to his music when he stopped. She wasn't entirely wrong. He had been caught twice in the same week which was something that never happened to him before. If he went back to the institute, he could continue working with his own kind and avoid any nosy police. But rolling Robin's blueprints back out, Peter thought to himself how much fun he was having. In the end, he concluded the institute could cope without him for at least a few days more!

The next day began Peter and I's first official heist! I had us sit up in an empty lot overlooking the motorcycle dealership. Some of the nicer models were kept inside, but the more average bikes were left outside in the lot, standing in shiny, metal rows. I stared through a pair of binoculars, eyeing up each one, trying to pick out the best one not only in looks but also positioning. It had to be nice, but it also had to be close to the back exit.

"Thhhh…That one!" she pointed.

I handed the binoculars to him so that he could see. It was a cherry red Harley-Davidson with worn handles and a scratch on the left side.

"Um…this is a used dealership," he grunted.

"Yeah, so?" I shrugged, "Some of those bikes still look like they're in good condition."

"Why don't we just steal a brand new one?" he looked over at me.

"Because it's summer and that's the time of year people buy things like these," I explained, "If we went to a normal dealership, it'd have more employees to work around and more witnesses. This place only has one advisor in their parking lot and one person working the desk. And as far as I can tell, there's only one person inside deciding on a warranty."

"Ooookay," he shrugged, "But couldn't we just let me run into a normal dealership and run out with a bike? Easy, we don't even need to sneak around."

I rolled my eyes, "If that would work, I wouldn't have drawn out all those plans. Does your super speed give you super strength, Peter?"

"Uh…"

"No," I said curtly, "So I doubt you'll be able to lug a motorcycle out of a dealer with your super speed. And I don't think your powers apply to vehicles either or I'd have whiplash by now. The only way we're gonna steal one of those is if we roll it out the back _quietly_."

I gave an irritated huff, and concluded, "So while this plan involves some of your powers, please don't go overboard with them."

"Jeez, fine," he sighed, "By the way, why did your notes say I needed to buy enamel paint and turpentine?"

At that, I gave him a mischievous smile and went back to staring down at the bike I wanted.

"Cuz we're giving that thing a total makeover after we get it!" I giggled eagerly, "So it'll be unrecognizable by the time they go looking for it."

I hopped to my feet, throwing the binoculars back into my back and brushing off my legs.

"Don't worry, Peter, I've got this all planned out," I assured him.

"Seems like it," he stood up as well.

"Alright, now you know your part, right?"

"I wait until you start talking with the dealer, then I run over, check the bike's number, go behind the desk and take the corresponding key…aaand umm wait until you have to dealer distracted so I can ride off with it."

"Perfect!" I beamed, "You've been reading my notes!"

"Yeah, well you know your part?"

"I distract the dealer," I shrugged.

Peter just quirked an eyebrow skeptically and crossed his arms.

"Then what are ya gonna do to hold his attention?" he asked slyly.

"Uh—I dunno," I mumbled, suddenly feeling my confidence ebbing away, "I can improvise…or ask for your input?"

I shrugged sheepishly but Peter only laughed and rolled his eyes at me.

"Before I thought about using one of my long, annoying stories," I explained, "But I'm trying to make the dealer enjoy my company and not focus on anything else but me so that he won't notice you."

"Enjoy your company…focus on you…" Peter mumbled, stroking his chin as he thought.

Then an oddly perverted look crossed his face and I felt a sense of dread as I realized what he was going to suggest.

"You can put the moves on him," he said in an overly low, seductive voice, waggling his eyebrows.

"Oh my God," I couldn't help but facepalm.

"What?" he chuckled, "Show a bit of leg, have him talk about himself, unbutton your shirt a little biiiit…"

My whole face flushed as I covered the buttons on my navy flannel subconsciously. The problem was that I couldn't help but agree with him. That would be the best way to hold a man's attention while somebody else stole a motorcycle out from under him. It had been a while since I had flirted with someone, so I was pretty rusty. Peter seemed to look a little more serious, too, when he realized I was actually considering his plan. Maybe it had been a joke to him, but it seemed like a good strategy to me.

"Ok, no, that's fine," I tossed my hair like I was totally confident.

"You sure?" he teased.

"Yes!" I snapped, my face still red, "I'll 'put the moves' on the dealer for you, ok?"

"Can't wait to see ya in action, Robin," he teased with a small wink, "Ooh hey, I got a good motorcycle pick up line for you!"

I didn't even have to ask to hear it.

"Just point to their biggest bike and say that you like big things between your legs!" he laughed childishly, barely able to sputter out the end of the line.

I buried my face in my hands and grumbled, "Just stay focused, Maximoff."

When we got to the dealership, the same irritating customer was still at the front desk, thoroughly inspecting their warranty. It didn't seem like they'd be looking up any time soon, though. We got to the end of the building, looking out through the glass doors on the rows of used motorcycles. After murmuring a few last pointers, we were about to split up, when the dealer emerged from one of the rows. He wasn't ugly or fat or even old.

He was a she. The she looked to be in her early 20s and had black hair like mine but it was cut short into a bob. She wore the dealership's uniform—a navy polo with khaki pants—but the pants were worn at the knees and the polo was unbuttoned down to her collarbone. By the looks of her deadpan expression, her job was less than eventful. Peter stared at her in surprise then glanced over at me.

"Do you—uh," he stammered, "Wanna switch jobs?"

"What?" I tore my eyes away from her, "No, I got this."

"But, she—I mean, look I can do both—"

"Stop worrying, Peter," I brushed him off, "It's actually better that it's a girl."

He raised his eyebrows at me in shock.

"Yeah, I dated a girl my freshman year of high school," I shrugged.

A slacked jaw was added to his look of shock. I giggled at him and shook my head.

"Don't just assume every klepto you meet's gonna be straight," I whispered.

"S-so," he finally found the right words, but now his cheeks were starting to flush, "You swing—um—you swing that way?"

I had heard that question so many times, the first time from my brother when I brought my girlfriend home for the first time. One gets used to things like that after a while, and you can rehearse the answers with ease.

"I swing _both_ ways," I smirked, giving him a playful hip-check, "Now go get to work,"

I left him standing at the door with that same look of "what the hell" on his face. It was always funny to see people's expressions when they found out I was bi. Although, nowadays I didn't have many friends to wow with that fact. I opened my act by slowly walking through one of the rows, carefully checking each bike with wide eyes. The woman still looked bored, probably hoping she wouldn't have to help me.

But it was her job, after all, so she eventually trudged over to me and sighed, "Can I help you?"

Looking up at her, I tried to seem surprised, "Hm? Oh, I'm here to buy a motorcycle. Am I in the wrong place?"

She gave a half-hearted chuckle and answered, "Nope, you're in the right spot. What are you looking for in specific?"

I smiled and bit my lip, "Ya got a Honda Superhawk?"

That actually got a more genuine laugh out of her, "Yeah, it's at the back of the lot, right behind the Ferrari and the Mustang."

"Pffft!" I guffawed, "Okay, okay, but seriously, I need a cheap but…semi-reliable bike."

A lazy smile had settled on her face as she looked around the lot for something to catch her eye. While she was distracted, I checked the number on the bike I wanted. It was umber 15, so I held up a 1 and a 5 to Peter and mouthed "fifteen." He nodded and disappeared in the blink of an eye. By now, he'd have the key, so all I had to do was hurry up and get to the point.

"What about this one?" the dealer gestured to a bike on the other end of the lot.

She led me over to a string of black BMW bikes with a few scratches and dents in each one.

Running a hand on one of the seats, she said, "These are all around 17,000; marked down from their original 30,000 at the cost of their novelty."

I made my first move, placing my hand next to hers on the bike and spreading my fingers over the metal. When she glanced up at me, I was closer than I had been before.

"U-um," she took a step back, "Will that fit your price range?"

"Hmm…" I drummed my fingers on the bike, "Do you ride one of these?"

"Yeah, actually I do," she smiled.

"Because I think this might do," I nodded, "But I don't have anyone to teach me. I mean, I have my permit, but none of my friends wanna help me get my license."

By the way she opened her mouth but couldn't get a single syllable out, I could tell she was going back and forth between offering her services or shutting up.

"Ah, who am I kidding?" I groaned, "I barely even passed the permit test, I shouldn't even be buying,"

I shook my head and went to head back for the main building when she shouted, "Wait!"

She stammered as I turned back around, "I-I mean I could see if someone here will give you lessons. There's probably—most likely—someone. If—even if there's not, I could help. It wouldn't be free, but…"

It was cute how much she reminded me of myself when my girlfriend first asked me out. I just stood there with a triumphant grin on my face as I eagerly rolled back and forth on my heels.

"Really?" I beamed, "What's your name?"

"Samantha…" she mumbled.

"Miranda," I gave her a fake name as I offered a hand to shake.

As I shook her hand, I glanced back over at the window to the building where I saw Peter. He was impatiently tapping his foot and fumbling with the keys in his pocket, waiting for the right moment to pounce on that motorcycle. I realized I was making things too innocent and if I really wanted her attention, I'd have to be more assertive.

"So, Samantha," I said as I held her hand, "When do you get off work? We can go for a practice drive sometime,"

"I-I said I might teach you!" she sputtered, her face turning red, "If I can't find anyone e-else to."

"Come on, I thought we had a date planned," I gave her a sly wink and leaned in closer.

"A…d-date?" she murmured, her words weaker as my lips drew closer.

She wasn't so tough-looking now. Meanwhile, Peter was trying to multitask between starting the motorcycle and watching the girl-on-girl action across the way. He had only ever seen stuff like that in magazines, and I knew exactly how to make Samantha tick. As he watched us, he felt an odd sensation well up in his chest. The sight of his friend being so hands-on with someone else bugged him for some reason. Maybe it was just that he hadn't expected me to be bisexual or that he wasn't used to watching used to seeing me flirt. For a second, he wished himself in place of Samantha, but only humored the thought for a second. Then he dug the key into the motorcycle and slowly started the engine.

"Why don't we get half the date over with now?" I ran my hand up her arm, "Then save the rest for after work?"

The dealer had pretty much melted to my touch, giving in completely to my advances. Despite her scary demeanor from before, she was surprisingly submissive. Just as I was about to kiss her, she pressed a hand on my chest to stop me.

"Wait, my boss," she whispered, "What if he sees? He…he doesn't know I'm…"

For a moment, I hesitated and my heart sank. If there was anything as difficult as being a mutant in the 80s, it was being gay. Both mutants and gays would hide who they were from their coworkers for fear of getting fired. I only hoped things would get better in the future, but for now, people like Samantha had to worry about their boss peering at them from the window. I was going to back off when I heard Peter start the engine in the distance. We both were alerted by the sound and I knew Samantha needed a distraction stat! Lurching forwards, I crashed my lips against hers. It was far too forced and abrupt for it to seem as seductive as I wanted it to be, but she seemed breathless by it nonetheless.

By the time she had caught her footing and ran a nervous hand through her hair a few times, Peter was long gone. I gave her one last farewell, and scampered off. But I couldn't help but feel a little sorry that she'd be hoping a beautiful "Miranda" would be there at the end of her shift to take her out for a night of fun…As I ran down the street, I tried to shake the thoughts from my head. Peter suddenly zoomed up next to me on the motorcycle, his goggles pulled down over his eyes.

"Uh…wow!" he gaped, "That was really something!"

"What?" I asked.

"I mean, you just straight-up kissed her!" he marveled, "You're a ladykiller, Robin!"

"Well, you did say to put the moves on 'em," I chuckled but then my expression dropped, "Peter...I hope this doesn't ruin our friendship. I just want you to know that even though I knew you were a mutant before I became friends with you, that even if I found out later, I'd still want to be friends with you."

"What do you mean?" he asked with a puzzled expression.

"I mean…I hope you still want to be friends with me after this," I mumbled nervously.

Peter only shrugged and brushed it off, "Don't worry about it. Yeah, I was a little shocked at first, but I just didn't see it coming was all. What, are you saying people have left you when they found out you swung both ways?"

"Pft, yeah pretty dumb, huh?" I laughed a little, "I mean, as if my klepto nature wasn't enough to scare them off, they all had to worry about if I was flirting with them or not."

"Well I don't mind having to worry about that," he said in a mock-seductive tone.

"You want me to throw you off that bike?" I crossed my arms.

Peter only laughed and gave me driver's seat of the bike. After all, I was the only one who knew how to drive—sort of. He got on behind me, casually wrapping his arms around my waist. I lingered on the feeling for a moment. Safe. I felt safe with his arms around me. He didn't hate me for being a klepto or even bi. With him, I never had to worry about being hated. Revving the motorcycle up, I smiled and let out a sigh of relief. With Peter, it felt like I never had to worry.


	7. Stealing My Story

It had been a while since I drove a motorcycle, so my skills were a little rusty. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed gripping the turns and exceeding every speed limit by at least 20! The whole way back to Peter's, I wore a huge grin on my face—a look I could only get if I was on a serious adrenaline high. Peter was also having the time of his life, even though it was still a bit slow for him. After wheeling the bike into his garage, Peter pulled out all the paints I had told him to get.

"Your mom's not here?" I checked.

"At a dance recital for my little sister," he answered plainly as he popped the lid of a paint can.

"You have a little sister?" I quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, and a twin one," he added.

"You have a twin?" I laughed, plopping down at the other end of the bike, "Does she look like you?"

"Not really," he shrugged, "She doesn't really like to associate herself with my anyway…seems like that's most of my family,"

"Hey, welcome to the club," I smirked.

Peter only chuckled and rolled his eyes. We set to work on making the bike totally unrecognizable—he took the right side and I took the left, painting cyan blue over the original red. I had even dug out an old license plate I had stolen a while back. One might say I took it off the car by impulse, but I liked to think I was saving it for an occasion like this. That way it could at least look like it wasn't swiped straight from the dealer.

As we went onto the third coat, I began to notice something gnawing at Peter. He seemed way too invested in the spot of paint he was working on, like he was trying to avoid thinking about something else. Eventually, he started giving irritated huffs and scratching the back of his neck. When he gave in, he slumped his shoulders and set the paint roller down. Maybe all the tedious work was boring him.

"Wanna take a break?" I offered, peering over the motorcycle at him.

"What?" he looked up from the floor, "Oh, no, just um…"

He was silent for a few moments, wondering whether or not he should ask. It seemed a little out of the blue, but the curiosity was just burning away at him, so he went ahead and asked.

"So, you dated a girl?" he tried to say as casually as possible, "Must've been pretty crazy,"

"Not really," I shrugged, "Like dating a guy, but prettier—though I guess I wouldn't know. I've never dated a guy."

"So like…" he mumbled, still trying to place his words tactfully, "What's it like?"

I couldn't help but smile and shake my head, "You wanna hear about my girl-on-girl shit so you can get off to it later?"

"What? No!" he said quickly, "I'm just…I just wanna know what it's like, y'know? I don't get to talk to girls who have dated other girls often,"

"Not that you know, anyway," I teased him.

Setting my paint and gloves to the side, I stood up from my side and walked over to his. I sat down next to him, hugging my knees to my chest.

"If I tell you about my past love life, you gotta tell me yours," I smirked.

"Deal. I have never dated ever. Done, now you go!" he smiled curtly.

The little chucklefuck. Of course he never dated. I rolled my eyes and thought back to my days as a high school freshman.

"Her name was Serah," I began, "We sat next to each other in half of our classes and seeing each other was always the highlight of our days. She was into competitive video gaming, too, and would have local tournaments at the arcade. You know that one game the arcade has—Sinistar?"

"Yeah,"

"It's been years since she last played that game and her name is _still_ number one on the high score list. If you go and check, you'll see it."

"Sounds like a nerd," he joked.

"She kind of was," I shrugged, "But we were both social weirdos, so we got along pretty well. But we both had our obsessions and eventually they tore us apart. Serah was addicted to video games and I was addicted to petty thievery. Over time, we started caring less about each other and more of when we could get our next fix."

Peter noticed my tone shifted to a sadder one as my eyes fell to his garage floor and studied the cracks in the ground.

"I guess it was lack of interest that broke us up? But she moved away shortly after, so it wouldn't have worked anyways," I continued, "But Serah was still an amazing friend. She was fearless. She always had a snarky comeback for everything. She was so short and cute. She made the best food…"

As I spoke, my voice grew softer and softer. I slowly let my thoughts take me back to when I was sixteen, eating Serah's homemade cookies while she taught me how to play Galaga. I would later steal my own copy of the game later that afternoon. The garage became very quiet all of a sudden as Peter watched me stare off into space and reminisce.

Then I added out of nowhere, "She…was a mutant."

" _What_?" he gasped.

He had not seen that plot twist coming! I blinked and glanced up from the floor, looking as just a shocked as he was.

"Yeah. I still hardly believe it myself," I ran a hand through my hair, "I mean, she never told me. It wasn't until after she moved away that one of her friends brought it up. She was just really good at hiding it, I guess."

"What were her powers" Peter asked.

"Her friend gave it a name…something techno…oh—technokenetic!" I remembered, "Yeah, she had control over machines and computers. Maybe that was why she was so good at video games. But I wish she had told me herself…she was probably afraid."

Peter spoke carefully, "So…you would have been fine dating a mutant?"

"Yeah, why not?" I said, "It's who someone is, not what they are that matters to me."

After a few more seconds of living in the past, I snapped out of it and looked over at Peter. He seemed to be lost in thought as well as his expression dropped and his eyes glazed over.

"Why do you ask?" I spoke up.

"Huh?" he snapped back to reality, "Oh, just wondering."

"You're awfully nosy today, Peter," I gave him a dubious look.

"I just wanna know more about you," he smirked, "What's wrong with that?"

"Come on, I've told you about my parents, my sexuality, my past love life," I ranted, "It's your turn! Let's go, Maximoff, story time!"

"My dad left when I was a kid, I'm straight, and like I said before: I've never dated," he went down the list, "See? We're even."

Giving a huff and crossing my arms, I pouted, "Whatever. Let's hurry up and finish this bike before your mom gets home."

After the job was done, it was almost dark. I drove the bike out someplace for dinner, taught him how to walk out on a check without using powers or getting caught, then showed him where we'd be keeping the bike. Since neither of us could keep it at our houses without our parent/guardian being suspicious, I picked out a spot in an abandoned gravel lot that was overrun with bushes and ivy. We hid the bike under a tarp and shoved it into the overgrowth. We parted ways after that and I walked home triumphant. I had finally fulfilled my childhood dream of stealing a motorcycle!

Peter walked home thinking about Serah. He tried to imagine what it would be like to date me; to be in Serah's place. Would I get flustered when Serah complimented me, or was I the one to make her blush? Did I ever take her out on heists like I did with him? What was it like to kiss me—And not just a joke kiss, either? He quickly shook the thoughts out of his head, though, realizing that he had been walking a normal pace home. Just thinking about it was making him slow down. Instead, he tried to focus on making his best poker face for his mom if she asked where he had been.

When I got home, Jordan was in the living room playing cards with a few of his friends. Since I was feeling a little peckish for dessert, I stopped by the kitchen where I found Thomas. He was helping himself to our carton of chocolate ice cream, spooning it right out of the container. I made a mental note to only to eat the vanilla. Upon seeing me, he stopped eating and gave me a wide-eyed look…like he knew something I didn't.

"What?" I grunted.

"Oh uh—hey Robin," he greeted me awkwardly, wiping some chocolate from his face.

I responded with a curt smile and a small wave.

"How was your day?" he asked.

What was he: my dad? Since when did he care about how my life was? All he cared was that I didn't eat his favorite foods from our fridge.

"…Fine?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Right—um," he set the ice cream on the counter, "Did you ever get your wallet back from that Maximoff guy?"

"Oh, yeah!" I remembered my old bluff, "I did, no problem."

Thomas just slowly nodded, obviously not buying anything I was saying. He was starting to make me nervous.

"Cuz, y'know, I saw you hanging out with him today," he said nonchalantly.

My eyes went wide and my shoulders slumped. I had always assumed that as long as I kept Peter a safe distance from the house, we wouldn't get discovered, but I forgot that we could still be seen around town.

"Are you dating him or something?" he asked.

"You _cannot_ tell my brother—" I started to growl.

"Wait, you are?!"

"No!" I hissed, "We are _not_! We're just hanging out for the summer is all. Nothing major."

"Sooo that rental motorcycle you were driving was his?" he smirked.

He just _had_ to see us _before_ we painted the bike and added the false plate.

"God damnit," I fumed and slammed my fist on the counter, "Thomas, mind your own fucking business."

"Hey, I'm just saying, it looks like you're doing some major stuff to me," he chuckled.

"If you tell my brother…" I started to threaten him when he suddenly held up a hand.

"I'm not gonna," he said more seriously, "But I'm just trying to warn you that you gotta be more careful. Now, I don't entirely agree with Jordan's view on mutants, but if he finds out you're hanging out with one, you're gonna be stuck inside for the rest of the summer. So all I'm sayin' is that if I saw you today, who's to say he won't? I'm lookin' out for you here, Robin."

I crossed my arms, considering everything he said. He wasn't wrong and I was thankful he wasn't ratting me out. Now I was angry at myself for being so careless. If I wasn't careful like he said, I could end up ruining our summer for good, and I had already put Peter through enough trouble.

"But you should really just stop seeing him altogether," Thomas advised, "I mean a klepto's influence on another klepto can't be good."

"I'm not trying to be good," I sassed then stormed out of the kitchen.

 **AN: For anyone who follows the story and hasn't left a review, please do so~ I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback!**


	8. Stealing Away

"That's the foot peg…that's the shifter," I lectured, pointing to the parts of the motorcycle.

Peter nodded along as I went down the list of parts. Then I glanced up at him with a bit of a smile.

"Never get those two confused, ok?" I giggled.

I had done that once or twice when I first learned to ride. It was an unpleasant surprise to put your foot on the thing that shifts gear and to immediately start riding backwards.

Moving on to the head of the bike, I said, "That's the left handle; it has your hazard light and turn signal controls. That's the right handle—the fun one. It's also known as the throttle and it makes you go faster."

When I first learned to ride, it was in broad daylight with a friend of my brother who happened to be very experienced rider. I, on the other hand, was mediocre at best and chose to give Peter a lesson in an empty parking lot at sundown. Ever since Thomas mentioned that he had seen me with Peter, I didn't want to risk hanging out in public during the daytime.

"Which button lets me pop a wheelie?" he asked with a bored expression.

I knew he wanted to hop on and get going right away, but powers or no powers, I didn't want him wrecking our new bike.

"Okay, not even I know how to do that," I rolled my eyes, "Now pay attention. The right handle also has the front breaks. Now the back breaks are also on the right side, but are…"

My words eventually faded away to Peter, focusing more on myself rather than my voice. He watched as I pointed to different switches and levers, explaining them through thin lips. I was definitely no beauty queen like the magazine covers, but Peter always figured having someone like that would be too good to be true. He liked the more realistic, down to earth girls…like me. For the past few days, I had been on his mind a scary amount of times.

He wasn't entirely unaccustomed to crushes, but he was used to them ending very quickly; either because the girl was too good for an adult living in his mom's basement or because she was grossed out by the thought of dating a mutant. But despite the prospect of liking me, he still had a few things holding him back from admitting it. He was part of the X-Men now, and his life had a lot more weight to it than it did before. Had he met me before going to Xavier's, maybe he would have gone for me…but now. By dating a human, who knows what kind of danger he could put me in? He didn't want to deprive me of a normal life. Not to mention the age gap.

He had even considered his mother's words from before, that maybe he should go back to the mansion. But of course, I didn't know anything about the stuff that had just ran through his head. I was still going over the controls of the motorcycle, blissfully unaware.

"…And lastly, never try to floor it while the kickstand is down," I concluded the lesson, "I once saw a guy wipe out like that. The bike went flying out from under him!"

I laughed at the memory, but was a little off put when Peter didn't laugh as well. He was delayed about two seconds before he realized I had said something funny. It wasn't like him to be behind.

"Peter, are you ok?" I asked.

"What?" he looked up, "Yeah, I'm just…bored by all this explaining. When can I get on and ride?"

I backed away from the bike and gestured to it, "It's all yours. I mean, if you're done with my 'boring' explanation."

A sly grin spread across his face as Peter straddled the bike, revving the motor with the throttle. I rolled my eyes; he thought he was a pro. Well ok, he wasn't _awful_ at riding. I'd like to think it was beginner's luck, but he did fairly well for his first time. Watching him ride around the lot, I couldn't help but feel envious. My first time had been far slower and far wobblier than his. When there was nothing left to critique him on, I got bored and resorted to sitting on the curb and listening to my Walkman. That's when Peter rolled up next to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I took off my headphones and looked up, seeing him holding out a hand for me.

"Ready to head out?" he asked.

The chucklefuck sure looked pretty smug on the bike. He had his biker goggles down, and if he had been some random stranger who rode up to me on the side of the street, I would have accepted his offer either way.

"Sure, where to?" I asked, taking his hand and sitting on the motorcycle just behind him.

"I got somewhere I wanna take you," he said casually.

"Ok," I shrugged, "But we gotta hide the bike first."

We drove a few blocks before reaching the less populated areas of town where the bike's hiding spot was.

"Hey, can you cover the motorcycle and hide it?" I asked, starting to head off, "I'm gonna stop over there and get some drinks. Want anything?"

"Just an energy drink," he shrugged, "Like a Monster or something."

I rolled my eyes, but didn't say anything. Why that boy would need any more energy was beyond me. I left Peter to tarp the motorcycle on his own and trekked over to the gas station. The sun was really going down now, and the store was empty except for the clerk at the front desk. Now I had stolen from a lot of gas stations around my neighborhood, and this one was no exception. The man who ran this one in particular was short with greying hair and in his late 40s. So basically, he was always 100% done and just wanted to make enough money to pay for the retirement he never saved up for. He also knew I was full of shit and had stolen from him before. Lucky for me, he couldn't afford security cameras in his store, so he could never prove I had taken anything. The moment I walked into the store, he gave me a side glance and muttered a, "Robin."

"Hey," I gave him a playful wave.

"Keep yer nose clean," he warned.

"Relax, I'm just here to buy a few drinks," I brushed him off, walking past the front counter.

He stared daggers at me as I walked to the back of the store, eventually disappearing behind the rows of snacks. The second I was out of his line of sight, I snagged a chocolate bar off one of the shelves and unwrapped it. I perused the refrigerated shelves as I munched on my Snickers bar, looking out for energy drinks. Eventually I got stuck deciding between two different kinds of sodas for myself. Mountain Dew…or Pepsi… As I glanced back and forth between the two, I heard someone else enter the station. I immediately finished off the candy bar and shoved the wrapper in my pocket.

"Can I help you with something?" I heard the cashier ask at the front of the store.

There was no response from the new guy, so I just continued my shopping.

"Sir?" the cashier asked.

At first I thought they were just being antisocial, but then my skin went pale when I heard them speak.

"Alright, empty the register. _Now_ ," the new guy said.

I slowly turned around, peering between the shelves to get a better look. The clerk had his hands up, staring straight at a pistol aimed right at his head. The new guy—more aptly known as a robber—wore your stereotypical black hoodie and beanie hat. All he was missing now was a ski mask.

"For fuck's sake…" the clerk muttered under his breath, "Look—"

"I don't wanna hear it, old man!" the robber snapped, "Money on the table. Nice and slow."

I felt myself freeze up. This guy didn't know I was in the store—I had been hidden in the back! If I showed myself now, I was dead! But if I didn't, then the cashier was dead. Not like I cared too much for him, but he was still a person and who would I steal candy bars from if he was dead? I took a few deep breaths before calming down a little. I tried to think of what my favorite action movie heroes would do, but all the ideas that came to mind were far too dangerous.

 _If only Peter were here_ , I thought.

But he wasn't, so I was left to my own devices. I'd have to solve this problem old school—the human way. Slowly, I began moving my way up to the front of the store, trying to stay hidden behind the shelves. As I walked through one of the aisles, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelves. I always saw people breaking them over people's heads in movies so…it probably worked in real life.

"I worked hard for that money," the owner was surprisingly still putting up an argument, "You don't have the right to take it."

"Oh, I will!" the robber snapped, "I'll put a bullet in between your eyes if you don't!"

For all the talk this guy spouted, he sure wasn't pulling the trigger. In fact, his voice seemed awfully shaky; he was probably nervous that the clerk wasn't giving him what he wanted and that he risked leaving evidence of a murder. Meanwhile, I slowly crept up to the front, whiskey in hand. The clerk glanced behind the robber at me, but I held a finger to my lips. The clerk looked back to the robber and pretended he hadn't seen me.

"For the last time—" the robber began to say.

 _Smash!_ I slammed the bottle of whiskey over his head and glass and alcohol went flying! The robber went limp and collapsed to the ground. Just outside, Peter had finished up hiding the motorcycle. He instantly knew something was up, and the world around him slowed down. I was in trouble—he could feel it. Speeding through the lot, he stopped in front of the gas station windows, seeing the mess before him. It was all nearly frozen since he was going so fast, but he saw me standing above a man in black with a broken bottleneck, my eyes widened in shock. Then he spotted the gun on the floor and the clerk with his hands still in the air.

Peter's expression dropped as he felt himself go into "X-Men mode." He dashed through the door as fast as he could, ready to save the day. But to us humans, the door suddenly flew open and Peter magically appeared in a rush of wind!

"Robin!" he shouted.

"Ah!" I shrieked at his sudden appearance, dropping the bottleneck.

I was already shaken up enough, but now I had Peter showing up out of nowhere! He had a really urgent look on his face…a real worried one. He looked almost scared.

"What happened?" he asked firmly.

"I…I—um…" I found myself still speechless, glancing back and forth between the unconscious felon and my friend.

I had actually stopped a bad guy! Like a hero! If I were as suave as James Bond, I'd have a cool, whisky-related one-liner, but I was still in shock. Finally, I looked up at the owner of the store, hoping he could explain.

"You saved my life," he breathed, "Uh…Thanks, kid."

He looked a little surprised to find the same girl who stole from him had just saved his life _and_ his profits! Looks like I was back on his good side.

"Look, you two better get out of here. Especially you," he gestured to Peter, "I'll call the cops. You guys just go."

Peter took my hand and dragged me out of the store as I waved goodbye to the clerk. He waited until we were a good distance away from the gas station to speak up.

"What was that about? What happened?" he asked hurriedly, the same urgent look on his face.

"An…An armed robbery, I guess," I breathed, still in disbelief myself.

"Why didn't you come get me?" he hissed.

"Because then the guy would have seen me!" I retorted, "I was stuck and I had to do something!"

Peter took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhaled.

"You just scared the crap out of me is all," he sighed.

I shifted my weight uncomfortably, "Yeah well…It scared me a lot, too."

It was weird to have someone else fight crime. Peter was used to doing it himself with the X-Men, but it was odd to see Robin doing it. He would have thought that with a name like Robin Banks, she wouldn't do much crimefighting.

"Are you ok?" he asked carefully.

"Yeah…I think so…" I mumbled, shoving my hands in my jean pockets.

But he could tell by the way I kept my head down with a nervous expression etched onto my face that I wasn't ok. I had never had to do something like that before.

"Alright," he took my hand again, "Well, come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To that place I was gonna take you to before. Don't worry, it's far away from here."

So I followed him as he took me off the beaten path through some old gravel roads. If it were dark, I'd swear he was leading us onto a horror movie set. But eventually we got through the trees and overgrowth until we came onto a big lookout. It looked like it used to be an old parking lot where a lot of couples would go to makeout, but the "No Trespassers" signs and barbed wire seemed like it ended those days.

He showed me an old tree stump that you could stand on then hop over the barbed wire from. I was a little concerned about the owner of the lot rushing out with a gun and chasing us off, but I trusted Peter knew what he was doing. Even if we were trespassing, the view was worth it. The lookout gave a full view of our town, and the setting sun made it look all the better. It wasn't the classic Manhattan skyline, but the view of a New York subdivision wasn't half bad. We both plopped down at the edge of the lookout, shoes crunching against the old gravel.

"Oh, shoot," I mumbled, "Forgot the drinks."

"Pft. No big deal," Peter shrugged, "Ya saved a man's life, isn't that good enough?"

Pulling my knees to my chest, I muttered, "I guess."

He could see that the whole gas station ordeal still had be on edge, so he decided to ease the tension.

Punching me in the arm, he laughed, "Hey don't worry, you did good."

Looking over at him, I said seriously, "You said I scared you."

Peter's smile slowly faded. Cheering me up clearly wasn't going to be as easy as our usual quips. He sighed and pulled at one of the zippers on his jacket.

"Yeah, but I mean…" his voice trailed off.

I could tell his instincts were telling him to tell a joke or be ironic—anything but serious or heartfelt. But despite that, he gazed out from the lookout with a grim look in his eyes.

"You did," he said simply, "But what you did; not everyone would have done it. You were really brave."

A small smile crept onto my lips. I suppose I had looked pretty badass.

"You could have handled it better if you were there," I shrugged.

"Buuut I wasn't," he added, "You were,"

A small gasp escaped my lips when I felt his arm wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He was either making a move on me, or trying to comfort me. I didn't say anything for a while. I just let him hold me there. It felt nice to be so close to someone especially since it had been a long time since my last cuddle. I had missed the feeling of someone else's body keeping me warm. Eventually, I laid my head down on his shoulder, letting a long-winded sigh out.

Peter took his eyes of the town's skyline for a moment, staring down at me. I was too busy admiring the view to notice, so he moved a hand for my hair. But his better judgement told him it'd be too awkward, so he stopped himself. His judgement didn't tell him to not sniff my hair, though, so he did that. _That_ I noticed.

"Did you just sniff me hair?" I spoke up.

"No," he said quickly.

"You totally did," I smiled, looking up at him.

"You're imagining things, Robin," he played dumb.

I just rolled my eyes playfully and went back to the view.

Then I asked, "So what it'd smell like?"

"…Mint and VHS tape."

"Is VHS tape a good smell?" I thought aloud.

"It is if you're me," he chuckled.

For that short amount of time, it felt like we were…together. It was a moment where we could forget about all our responsibilities and worries and just pretend like we had nothing to lose. I forgot that he was nearly a decade older than me and Peter forgot about my overbearing brother. But as the evening came to a close and the sun had mostly set, reality came back to Peter. He realized that this—the moment we were in—wouldn't last. It never would. He had a life elsewhere, and besides…

"I'm going back to the institute in a few days," he said.

Lifting my head off his shoulder, I looked over at him. That was right: he had to go back. He had friends and classes to get back to. I was the one thing holding him back from that. Soon enough, my summer of fun would end and I'd be back to pickpocketing at the arcade.

"Oh…" I mumbled, staring at the ground.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud."

"No, no," I shook my head, "It's fine. When exactly do you leave?"

"Day after tomorrow."

By now, the sun had completely gone, and we were left with nothing but the fireflies and an old, flickering streetlamp. A silence fell between us.

But then I tried to think more positively, saying, "Well, you'll finally get to see your friends again!"

He looked over at me with a sullen expression settled into his face. He was looking me right in the eyes, something rare for Peter.

"But I like hanging out with you," he said softly, "I wish I didn't have to go."

Then a smile broke his serious look, and the rare moment of eye-contact was broken.

"I mean, I've gotten into more trouble with you than I ever do at the institute," Peter laughed, "I'm always getting lectured about something there—can't even steal a notebook without hearing about it from the Professor."

After another long silence, I stood up from the ground, offering a hand to Peter.

"Come on, let's head back," I said.

He walked me home in the dark, holding my hand the whole way.

 **AN: Thank you to the guest who left the lovely comment~ Please leave a review if you have not already! They really help with the writing and brighten my day!**


	9. Stealing Another Kiss

It was Peter's last day before heading back to the institute. Soon I'd be back to solo shoplifting, mindlessly listening to Jim Croce vinyls, and trying hopelessly to beat Serah's Sinistar score. Things would be so much duller without Maximoff around, but I tried to not let that bug me. Instead, I focused on showing him the best time on his last day. At least then he'd have something to remember me by. I had thought about the feelings I had about him the night before and… I had come to the conclusion that he would be leaving soon anyways, so it didn't matter if I liked him of not.

To start, I took him to the movies, where we used his powers to zip our way through the back doors unnoticed and straight into the theater—no admission needed. We saw one of the newer releases, _Risky Business_. It was one of the best movies I had ever seen! The plot was genius, and the train scene at the end was really hot. After that I figured we'd do something that didn't involve stealing for once, so I took him out for lunch. I mean, we still walked out on the check, but… it was lunch? The whole meal, I tried to make myself seem happy and talk about other things that didn't pertain to Peter leaving. But actually, I was really bummed that he'd be gone, but I knew if I made that clear, that would only trouble him. After lunch, we went to the music store (a different one than the one we met in). Peter and I dug around the rock and roll section, hunting for any _Ramones_ album I didn't already own.

Eventually we branched out our search and moved to different parts of the store. As I fingered through the stacks of records, my auburn eyes skimming the titles, I heard a voice. They were calling for someone, but it wasn't me, so I ignored it. But they just kept calling and calling! Whoever "Miranda" was, I hoped they would show up soon so this person could shut up. It took me a few seconds to put two and two together, but then I realized: I was Miranda. That was Samantha. She found me. I slowly looked up from the shelf, my eyes widening when I saw Samantha standing at the end of the aisle. She was no longer in her dealership uniform, now wearing more trendy, darker-colored clothes. She didn't seem exactly happy to see me, though, probably because my visit ended in a missing motorcycle and a stood-up date.

The moment she started storming towards me, I took off like a bullet for the door. It was rare that one of my heists had a loose end, but then again, I had put some seriously good moves on Samantha, so it was only natural that she wanted to see me again. Even if it was over a stolen bike. By the time I reached the end of the block, I keeled over, desperately trying to catch my breath. And then _zoom_ , Peter was by my side in an instant, holding an album he likely didn't pay for.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked worriedly.

"Ugh," I groaned, "That was the girl from the dealership in there. She recognized me from when we took that motorcycle."

"Shit, really?" he quirked an eyebrow, looking back at the music store.

"Yeah," I sighed, "Hopefully I won't have to deal with her again."

"Wanna go back to my place? We can play this—uh…" he looked at the album in his hands, reading the title, "… _U2_ album."

I laughed, knowing that he probably zoomed out of the store after me without him even bothering to put down whatever was in his hands. We spent the rest of the afternoon in his basement, eating Twinkies and listening to _U2_. I think by then, Peter was picking up on the strange, melancholy aura about me. He didn't point it out, but I could tell it was making him concerned. It was a little after dinner time when I headed home, of course with a Twinkie box to go.

It was a weekend, so it wasn't the biggest shock that Jordan was home. What was shocking was that he was sat in the living room armchair, facing the front door expectantly awaiting my return. I hadn't gotten this kind of welcome in a very long time, but what I knew about it was that it always meant he knew I did something. I gulped when I saw him, nervously adjusting my purse strap.

"Jordan," I nodded.

"Robin," he growled.

"You ok?" I ventured.

"No, I'm not," he answered firmly.

"This isn't about those headphones, is it?"

Jordan rolled his eyes before pulling himself out of the armchair, "Sit down, Robin."

He pointed to the couch sternly, his green eyes practically boring holes into my skull. So, I complied, carefully taking a seat across from him. He decided to stay standing, leaning against the edge of the armchair and tapping a finger.

"I'm a good fucking older brother, you know," he opened his lecture, "I do a lot for you. Whenever people ask about your whereabouts or your little 'habits,' I always have alibis at the ready. Because I don't want trouble around here, and I don't want to have to deal with the authorities. But just now, a police officer came by."

A cold chill went down my spine. There could be a myriad of reasons as to why.

"He came here with a girl, and they were following a _lead_ ," he hissed, "This girl—she said you were at the _motorcycle_ dealership she worked at before one of their bikes went missing. She said you promised her a date, but never came, so she thought you had something to do with its disappearance. Thought maybe you were, oh I dunno, part of a _heist_."

His words were very accusing sounding, and every one of them were spot on. He knew, and I was screwed, and judging by that burning look in his eye, there were a lot of other reasons he was mad.

"This girl said your name was 'Miranda,' but when she described you to the cops, they knew it was you. They know you really well, Robin," he seethed, "But me, being the great older brother that I am, denied all that. I said that they had no proof that this 'Miranda' was my little sister or that she was part of a heist. And since all their evidence were based on hunches, I sent them away without any search."

After he finished his story, there was a long pause filled with him looking me dead in the eyes with a crazed look. Suddenly, he slammed his hands on the coffee table.

"But a MOTORCYCLE?! Too far, Robin!" he boomed.

I flinched a little, mumbling, "Well, I mean, you said yourself, you can't prove—"

"Oh, so now you're trying to pull the wool over my eyes, now?!" he cut me off, "Bullshit, Robin, I know it was you! We aren't playing good cop-bad cop here, we're playing big brother, and the big brother always knows! You don't have to bother denying it, I _know it was you_!"

"I'm fine covering for you when it's jewelry, or clothes, or fucking petty things—but a motorcycle?! What the hell were you thinking, Robin?!" he continued his rant.

I just crossed my arms, waiting for the scolding to be over. At least I was getting busted at the end of Peter's visit. It wouldn't matter if Jordan put me under house arrest since I wouldn't have Peter to hang out with anyway.

"I don't understand where this massive jump from pickpocketing to vehicle theft came from—wait, wait—yes I do!" he snapped, "This girl also mentioned the person working the front desk saw you come in with someone else! A guy with silver hair and biker goggles! Ring any bells?!"

I didn't care if I got grounded, but I sure as hell cared if Peter was brought into this. My face paled and I glanced up at Jordan with a look of shock.

"He's a mutant, Robin!" he yelled, "He's a klepto and a mutie! I told you to stay away from him, but you didn't listen, and now he's making your habits worse! Did he talk you into stealing that motorcycle?!"

"What? No!" I spat.

"But he used his powers, didn't he?" Jordan sassed, "Because the girl from the dealership said nobody else was in that lot when the bike went missing! Not unless someone moved too fast for her to see. Get it, Robin? His powers are making it easier for you to steal shit, and you're taking advantage of that. He's making you _worse_!"

"This is not his fault!" I fought back, standing up from the couch, "Peter is a good person, I know him!"

"What, are you sleeping with him now?!"

"No!" I shouted, "Besides, who I'm friends with isn't any of your business!"

"It is if it's a mutant!" he shot back, "They're dangerous, and the fact that one helped you steal a motorcycle is proof! I don't wanna see my little sister on prime-time news as one of the many felons listed up there with the other mutie criminals!"

"Stop calling them _muties_!" I snarled, getting up in his face.

"You're not one of them! Why do you care!?"

"Because one of them is my _friend_!"

"Not anymore, he isn't!" Jordan shook his head, "I'm making sure that asshole never steps foot near this house ever again. From now on, you're telling me when you're leaving the house and with who."

"I'm not a kid anymore, you can't do that," I growled, backing off a little.

"You still rely on the money dad and I make to send you to college. You don't have a job and you're living under the roof we work our butts off to keep above your head," he ranted, "So as far as I'm concerned, this is my house, and you're under my rules."

"You can't do that!" I screamed again.

"I can because I'm gonna have backup," he smirked, "I'm calling Dad, and he's gonna come back down here to help me drag you to a psychologist. I don't care if we have to take you kicking and screaming! You're going on meds, Robin!"

That was a threat that scared me. He could lock me in the house and tattle on Dad, but a psychologist? That was one place I never wanted to go to. All they'd do is tell me how fucked up my brain is and try and "help" me.

"You can't do that against my will," I shuddered.

"We can if you're mentally insane, which is what you'll look like if you try to put up a fight," he argued.

Honestly, I'd rather spend the night in jail than go to a psychologist. I did not want to be compared to actual loonies—that was the one thing everyone thought I always was, but I never wanted to be.

"But first, I'm going in your room, and I'm sorting through everything and throwing out anything that's stolen! If I don't find a receipt for it, it's gone!"

My expression turned to rage as he headed off for my room. He was crossing a line trying to go into my territory.

"Jordan!" I shouted, stomping after him.

"You've gone too far this time!" he yelled back.

I caught him by the arm, my nails digging into his skin. My eyes locked with his, staring daggers.

"Stay the _fuck_ out of there," I warned him.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," he hissed, trying to pull his arm free.

I just yanked him right back, "You can't take this away from me! It's the one thing I have that I can call my own!"

"Listen to yourself!" he barked, shoving me off him, "Half that shit isn't even yours, but you're claiming it's yours?! I should have gotten you help a long time ago!"

He turned to leave when I yelled, "If Mom were here—"

"If Mom were here, none of this would BE happening!" he whirled around again, "You wouldn't have the NEED to steal all the time!"

"But you wouldn't be pushing me around like this!" I ran up to him and gave him a harsh shove.

As siblings, we always felt like we had to one-up each other in fights. We scarcely left a wrestling match undecided, but now that we were older, it was a lot deadlier.

"You let that Maximoff kid tell you what to do!" he grabbed my wrist, "Why can't I!? Or do you _like_ it when _he_ does it?"

SLAP! I hit him hard across the face, making him stumble a few steps back. That was another boundary crossed for him, and I had let him know. But Jordan answered similarly, reeling his fist back before lurching forward at me. BAM! He hit me straight in the face, sending me into the wall. The pictures hung on the wall shuddered from the impact before falling from their nails and shattering on the floor. I fell too, bouncing off the wall from the impact, and landing amongst the broken glass. I yelped as the shards dug into my hands. I waited a few seconds. Jordan would apologize, right? Now, _he_ had gone too far, so wouldn't he say something?

"Stop being such a drama queen, Robin," he spat then continued on his way.

I heard as the door to my room slammed shut, leaving our home in total silence. Jordan was ripping my life apart. One moment he couldn't care less about what I did, but now he cared immensely. My right eye began to throb and I could already feel the swelling begin to start. Stifling a few sobs, I stood up from the ground. Without another thought, I bolted out the door and ran as far as I could. It was at times like these that I wished I had Peter's super speed. I could have zipped away from Jordan the moment he opened his mouth.

When I couldn't run anymore, I plopped down on a street curb, allowing myself to finally cry. Lucky for me, it was nearly dark, so there wasn't anyone out to see me. I was never much of a crier, so when I would actually cry, I hated it. I quickly tried to stop the tears, wiping them away with the backs of my hands and biting my lip. When I had fought them off, I slowly opened my palms. They were bloody with tiny cuts that stung like hell. I felt so hopeless sitting there with glass dug into my skin and nowhere to go. If I went home, it'd just be more of the same.

The first person that came to mind was Peter. I knew right away that he was the person I wanted to see right now. Glancing around the street I was on, I figured I could find my way to his subdivision. After about ten minutes of wandering with a black eye and bloodied hands, I came across his house. It was dark by then, and I probably looked like a mess. My only hope was that Ms. Maximoff wouldn't answer the door.

Wincing, I rapped my knuckles on the door. There was no answer, which wasn't surprising considering how late it was. Meanwhile, Peter was flopped on the couch in the basement, sleepily watching _Airplane!_ on low volume and fighting his drowsy eyes. He hadn't heard my first knock, but my second knock brought him out of his haze. Blinking a few times, he glanced over at the stairs leading to the ground floor, wondering if he was hearing things right. He zoomed up to the front door and peered through the peephole. One look at me and he flung the front door open with the same worried expression he wore at the gas station.

"Robin?" he gasped.

I replied by grimacing and lowering my head, as if trying to hide my bruise in shame.

"What happened? Are you ok?" he breathed.

"Can I come in?" I asked weakly.

"Yeah, yeah of course," he nodded leading me inside.

"Is your mom up?" I asked as he hurriedly led me to the basement.

"No,"

"Good," I sniffled.

He took me over to the couch, pausing his movie, and sitting next to me. I bit my lip and continued fighting back tears, hoping I wouldn't spill over in front of him.

"My brother punched me in the face," I said in barely a whisper.

"Well you punched him back, right?" was Peter's immediate response.

That made me chortle a bit, but I shook my head. It wasn't our typical sibling fight—it was a lot worse than that.

"I mean, I did slap him, but…" I mumbled, "He…He found out about the motorcycle,"

I was staring down at my lap, waiting for Peter to say something, but he didn't so I continued.

"He found out I was hanging out with you," I admitted, "He doesn't really like you…"

"Never liked him much myself."

"…Or mutants," I finished, glancing up at him.

I saw a glimpse of hurt in his eyes for just a moment. Peter was always so flippant on the topic of mutant discrimination. It always seemed like it never got to him, but when it started to affect his personal life? Then it got to him. He was silent for a few moments before speaking again, his voice still soft.

"What, so he just punched you for that?"

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, "Things got heated…technically I hit him first, but not nearly as hard."

I remembered what he had said to provoke me to slap him: that I "liked it" when Peter told me what to do. But to be honest, if Peter told me steal a car, I'd do it. That should have scared me, but it didn't.

"Well, you're ok now, so—" he started to say, reaching out and taking me by the hand.

"Ah!" I yelped in pain and pulled my hand away.

Peter froze, staring at my hand. Carefully, he reached for it again, pulling it over into his lap and turning it over. He saw the cuts with tiny shards of glass embedded in them and the blood that oozed from them. At first, he just stared at them, but then _nyoom_! He came and went in a flash, reappearing with a first aid kit. He opened the case and began pulling out tweezers and bandages.

"You sure all he did was punch you?" he asked as he did so.

"Yeah…" I muttered.

Scooching closer, he pulled my hand into his lap again and readied the tweezers. I couldn't help but cry softly as he pulled the shards out. Some were easier than others to take out, but some were more embedded. For those, he had to really dig in with the tweezers and shimmy them out. All the while, I whimpered and squirmed as Peter tried to hold my hands steady. His hands were firm yet soft, but it was a little hard to pay attention to them from the acute pain in my palms.

When he finished, he dabbed the cuts with an ethanol-soaked cotton ball, getting more moans of pain from me. The last part was wrapping up my hands, which he did slowly and carefully. For a guy who was known for moving so fast, he could be really tender when he slowed down. As he packed up the first aid kit, I studied the bandages carefully wound around my palms, flexing and unflexing my hands as I did so.

Peter noticed how I hugged myself nervously, far more shaken up than I had been the night before. And just like before, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him; but this time even closer, tucking my head under his chin and breathing in my scent, not even bothering to hide it this time. I could finally get his smell, too… fresh laundry detergent and hair dye. I allowed myself to melt in his arms, just closing my eyes and taking a few moments to gather my bearings.

When his heartbeat finally calmed my nerves, I opened my eyes and muttered, "He said he's gonna put me on medication."

Peter stayed quiet, letting me talk.

"I know what pills like that do," I went on, "They dumb you down and turn your brain off. I don't want that. It's dumb, but… I always considered my kleptomania to be like my mutant power. It was something people hated me for, but something I could more or less control. I don't want them to take that away from me."

"Do you think he'll do it? Put you on meds?" Peter spoke.

"I dunno," I shrugged, "But he said he was gonna call my dad down to take me to a psychologist. He's also going through my room right now and—and throwing out anything that he thinks is stolen."

Peter held me tighter, mumbling, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," I sighed, "Not your fault."

"But he was pissed 'cause you were hanging out with me."

"It was also the motorcycle."

"Which I helped you steal."

I pulled my head off his chest and looked up at his brown eyes sincerely.

"Peter, this isn't your fault," I repeated, "I didn't hang out with you because you forced me to; I did because I like you."

It was a rather ambiguous "I like you" that came out of my mouth, so Peter wasn't sure if I meant it in _that_ way or not. Even I didn't know.

"Summer would be boring without you," I said, "You…made me feel alive again."

That got far more of a reaction than the murky "I like you." Peter flinched a little at my declaration, looking me in the eyes with a look of surprise. He hadn't realized what an impact he had made on me. But before he came, my life was dull as hell. But now, it felt like I never had trouble finding an adrenaline fix. We just stared at each other for a few seconds in disbelief at what I said. But the next thing I said caught him more off guard.

"Kiss me," I muttered.

"I…I can't."

"Why not?"

He broke eye contact for a split second and whispered, "Because you're 19."

We were 8 years apart and that was what got him the most. Being mutant and one of the X-Men was another factor, but 8 years? He was old enough to be my older brother. But I didn't care. I just kept my eyes locked on him with a dead serious look. He didn't fight or turn away as I moved closer to his face, so I just kept closing and closing the space. It was different kissing someone older than me and the same height as me. I was used to being taller than everyone my age, and when I gave Serah little pecks, I'd always have to bend down to her height.

It only lasted about a second a half, and the response I got from Peter was half-hearted at best. He returned the kiss, but not by much, only faintly kissing back. I pulled away, an almost ashamed look on my face. He looked so flustered and uncomfortable, but not the good kind—I had made him feel really out of place. It was then that I thought he didn't want me because…I was too young.

He noticed how awkward the atmosphere was getting, so he suddenly spoke up, "Uh, are you…are you planning on going home or—"

I just furiously shook my head. No way I was going back now.

"Ok, ok," he mumbled quickly, "You can stay here. Um…you can sleep in my bed."

"What about you?"

"I'll sleep on the couch."

I glanced over at the farthest corner of the basement where I hadn't really bothered to look before. It was where he kept a lot of his more personal affects like his bookshelf and dresser. Situated right next to the Ms. Pacman machine was his bed, and it reminded me how well off his mom was. It was actually decently made (surprising from such a sloppy kid) and had a soft, plush looking comforter. The headboard was actually a big, half-circle mirror. I suddenly realized how tired I was and how inviting all the pillows and blankets looked. He suddenly zipped across the room, digging through his dresser and pulling out a T-shirt which he then tossed to me.

"You can wear that to bed if—uh—if you want," he said awkwardly.

It was a _Pink Floyd_ T-shirt. I liked _Pink Floyd_ , but they weren't always one of my absolute favorites. I felt like asking teasingly if he had any _Ramones_ shirts, but I figured now wasn't the time. So, I took the shirt and sauntered over to his bed, pulling back some of the covers. Meanwhile, Peter pulled out a shag blanket and situated himself on the couch, facing away from me. I took the opportunity to undress, wincing occasionally as my bandaged hands fumbled with buttons or zippers. Soon I wore pretty much nothing but my underwear and the shirt he gave me.

As I crawled into bed, Peter was hiding a massive blush. He had a girl in his basement, throwing herself at him then stripping off her clothes, and all he could think to do was refuse her advances and not look. He thought that maybe that was the right thing to do? Not the part about the looking, that was obviously the right thing. But not kissing her? She was younger, not to mention emotionally damaged at the moment. But glancing over his shoulder at me as I snuggled into his pillow, he felt a bit of regret for not kissing me. Age aside, he thought I was beautiful, and if it were not for all the little complications in our lives, he would have kissed me without hesitation.

But now he was left mentally cursing himself for missing the opportunity, and I was left thinking he didn't want me like that. I fell asleep that night forgetting all my troubles at home. With him, I felt safe, even if he didn't want to kiss me back. At least with him, I could be myself.

 **AN: Thank you so much to Bubbles90 for your first time review on my story! I hope you all like things so far! Next chapter, Robin will get to meet Nightcrawler and Cyclops. Be sure to leave a review if you haven't already, they really help~**


	10. Stealing Farther Away

The day had finally come for Peter to go back to the institute. It had been a good visit back to the little subdivision where he grew up, and he had ended up staying longer than he originally planned. But now he couldn't push back the inevitable anymore. His friends Kurt and Scott drove up to his place that morning, ready to help him move out. The first time Peter came to the mansion, he hadn't anticipated on staying, so this visit back home was also a chance for him to take a few things back to the institute with him. Both his friends commented on how nice his house was and how successful his mom must have been for a single mother to afford all of it.

As usual, Peter's mom was too apathetic to bother seeing his friends, and his little sister, Lorna, was preoccupied with Saturday morning cartoons. At least he didn't have to put up with any obnoxious questions from family about his friends' sunglasses and blue skin. Peter directed them to the basement, telling them he'd be right down with the boxes.

"Wow, Peter's got a nice setup for himself here," Scott admired the basement.

Kurt hadn't expected it to be that nice either. He spotted the coffee table at the far end of the room where an array of headphone boxes and papers laid. He walked over to it and found one of his letters amidst the clutter. It had been opened and looked like it had been read more than once. Kurt smiled and sat down on the edge of Peter's bed, rereading the letter to himself. Meanwhile, Peter was zipping around the garage, pulling out a few unused boxes. He suddenly stopped midway and began to wonder if he was forgetting something. He couldn't put his finger on it but…oh wait! Kurt and Scott probably hadn't eaten breakfast!

Zooming to the kitchen, he began to organize some Pop Tarts on a plate. He ran on sugar, so he didn't have anything too healthy to eat in his cupboards. As he finished organizing the snacks, he slowed down again. He still felt like he was forgetting something…If it wasn't breakfast, what was it?

It was then that _I_ woke up. I could hear some faint music playing and someone sitting on the other side of the bed. I smiled to myself, thinking it was Peter. I looked at my bandaged hands and remembered how kind he had been the night before. Slowly, I emerged from the amass of pillows and blankets, blinking the sleepiness from my eyes.

"Hey, Peter, what time is—AAAH!" I stopped mid-sentence, letting out a shriek.

I had expected to see a devilishly handsome Maximoff, not…well, not a blue person! The blue guy let out a startled yell himself then BAMF! He disappeared in a cloud of dark blue smoke. He reappeared on the other side of the basement next to another guy I hadn't noticed. This one had short, brown hair and wore some killer shades. As I stared at them in shock and confusion, trying to catch my breath, I began to understand.

"W…Wait," I stammered, "Are you that blue friend Peter talks about?"

"He…talks about me?" the blue guy asked sheepishly, peering at me from behind the sunglasses friend.

He had a thick, German accent surprisingly. Then out of nowhere, _nyoom_! Peter showed up in a flash, a startled expression on his face. At least he remembered what he had forgotten.

"Oh, uh…" he stuttered nervously.

His friends were seeing me—some random girl—in Peter's bed wearing one of his T-shirts. Of course it looked wrong.

"This is Robin," he said awkwardly, "Robin, this is—urm—Kurt and Scott. I've mentioned them a few times."

"Hallo," Kurt gave a shy wave.

An uncomfortable pause followed before Peter spoke up, "You know, why don't you two go upstairs? Uh, I dunno if you've eaten yet, but I've got some food up there."

Peter herded them up the stairs, Scott snickering to himself and Kurt looking like he had done something wrong. Once they were gone, I facepalmed and let out an irritated groan.

"Sorry about that," Peter grimaced.

"What are they doing here?" I asked.

"Helpin' me move out," he shrugged.

I felt my heart sink at the reminder. The night before was over and it was time to face reality.

"Oh…right…" I mumbled.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

I reached up and poked at my black eye, cringing a bit at the dull pain that followed. The swelling had gone down and it didn't hurt as much as it had before. I started to pick at the bandages when Peter sped over and stopped me.

"Ah, you better keep those on a little longer," he said.

"But they don't hurt anymore," I replied.

"Just keep 'em on, trust me," he shrugged, "Sorry for not waking you up. I thought I'd let you sleep in, but then I kinda forgot you were down here when Kurt and Scott showed up. Heh, I think you gave poor Kurt a heart attack."

"Yeah…" I mumbled.

"I'm gonna go upstairs with them," he gestured over to the stairs, "You just…get out of bed, I guess."

As Peter tromped up the stairs, he let out a sigh; that sure was an ordeal. Scott had already helped himself to one of the Pop-tarts while Kurt looked at them suspiciously.

"So," Scott smirked, "That's why you didn't come back sooner,"

"Yeah, well—"

"Got yourself a girl," Scott finished.

"Uh—no!" Peter exclaimed, "We're just friends!"

"Uh- _huh_ ," Scott nodded, "I could tell since she was in your bed with her clothes on your floor."

Peter facepalmed, letting his hand drag through his hair in an exasperated manner. Of course Scott would read the situation like that.

"I mean, I stayed longer so I could hang out with her," he admitted, "But we're just friends, that's it! We didn't…I mean, you know…"

Suddenly, Kurt spoke up, "She vas hurt. Is she ok?"

He was probably talking about my bruised eye. Peter felt a little relieved that at least Kurt wasn't siding with Scott.

"She…Well, she had some trouble at home last night," Peter said awkwardly, shifting his feet, "So she came over to my place to lay low—and nothing weird happened!"

That got Scott to shut up and drop his shit-eating grin. First mention of domestic violence and he threw all notions of a relationship out the window. But then I had to emerge from the basement at just that moment, running my fingers through my tangled hair. I wore the same jeans I had from yesterday but this time wore a _Rush_ T-shirt.

"Hey, do you mind if I borrow another T-shirt?" I asked casually, "I mean, you let me borrow one last night, so I kinda figured…"

My voice trailed off when I saw his friends at the kitchen table. They were both looking right at me and I could tell they had all been talking about me, too.

"For the record, I didn't sleep with him last night," I said quickly.

"Th-they know," Peter stammered.

"Good…"

"Uh, I-I'm sorry for vaking you up," Kurt said with a nod.

"Oh, it's cool," I waved my hand dismissively, "It's Peter's fault for not waking me up in the first place."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to scream so loud," Peter retorted.

"I…" I stammered, "I just…did not expect to wake up to someone so—er—unique. I mean if I had seen him under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have—you know what, I sound awful saying this. To put it straight—"

Kurt put up a three-fingered hand, saying with a smile, "It's ok, I'm used to it,"

"Right, so who wants to help me move out?" Peter stepped in.

We spent the rest of the morning packing everything from vinyls to hoards of junkfood into boxes for Peter. Though, I soon realized why he called Kurt and Scott down to help him. Peter packed everything in under a minute, but there was no way that skinny boy was carrying them up the stairs and out the front door, speed or no speed! So he had Kurt teleport them out to the car and Scott haul the rest up the stairs the old fashioned way. When the last box had been taken up, I leaned against the basement wall and hugged my sides.

I could already imagine what Jordan would say to me when I got home. "You were out all night, that's so irresponsible! You can't just run off without a word and expect…" Blah, blah, blah. Plus, he'd see my bandaged hands and make the connection that I had gone to Peter's house which would just get me in even more trouble.

"I don't wanna go home," I mumbled, the words slipping out suddenly.

"What?" Peter glanced over at me.

"I'm not going home," I said more firmly, "If I do, it'll be just more of the same."

"Well, I'll visit you when I…"

His voice trailed off when I cast him a desperate look. My blackeye made me look all the more needy to him. If I did go home, I'd hear more shit from Jordan and then be shut up in my room until my dad got home. I hadn't seen my dad in almost a year, but I couldn't imagine he'd be happy to see me considering my circumstances.

"Or…uh," Peter adjusted the goggles on his head, "You could—I dunno—you could come with me?"

"Yes please," I moped, dropping my head.

"Ah, it's fine," he chuckled, ruffling my hair.

"Wait," I swatted his hand away, "Aren't I not allowed at the institute? I mean, it's for mutants, so wouldn't they not like a human?"

"Pft," Peter scoffed, "The Professor's a pretty cool guy. I doubt he'd turn you away just cuz you're a human. Besides, the guy owes me a few favors. I'm on his good side,"

"You?" I asked skeptically, "You're a _teacher's_ good side?"

"Yeah, of course!" he grinned.

"Uh-huh. Well I guess we'll see how this goes," I sighed, peeling myself from the wall.

Peter's friends seemed a little confused that I was tagging along. Maximoff just said that I wanted to get away from home for a bit, which I guess was the truth; though it felt more like running away. Scott just kept giving Peter a suggestive eyebrow waggle and a snicker. Bringing a girl along with him to the institute probably looked that way, but Peter just rolled his eyes. I sat in the backseat with Kurt where I still couldn't help but feel a little awkward. He had seen me roll out bed like a drowsy slug and then scream in his face. Meanwhile Peter was beginning to look very irked at Scott who kept giving him that same, suggestive smirk. So the car ride to the institute was very quiet. Finally, Kurt decided to try and be polite and create some conversation.

"So, Robin," he said, "How did you and Peter meet?"

"Shoplifting."

"The park."

We answered at the same time, our very different answers clashing against one another. It got us a puzzled glance from Scott and Kurt. Peter turned around from the passenger seat, giving me a wide-eyed stare like he was trying to tell me to shut up and let him tell the story. I just shrugged, unsure of what the big deal was.

"I mean, sort of," I said, "He took me to the park after we met, but he met me in a music store."

"Oh. Vhat music do you like?" Kurt asked.

"Oh no, I wasn't there for music," I giggled, "I was there for those new Talga model headphones."

"Ah yes!" he nodded, "I've seen zose!"

"Yeah, I was trying to steal a pair, buuuut I sorta got caught," I explained.

At this point, Peter let out an exasperated sigh and turned back to the front windshield.

"Peter saw me in trouble and sped me out, though," I grinned, "And we've been friends ever since!"

Kurt gave me a concerned look, "So…do you steal often?"

"Yeah, I'm a kleptomaniac," I nodded, "So's Peter. We got into all kinds of mischief while he was here!"

Suddenly, Scott started to laugh from the front seat, punching Peter in the arm.

"C'mon dude!" he chortled, "I thought you said you 'dialed back' on that stuff!"

"Apparently not," Peter grumbled.

Scott just continued to laugh and I realized I probably should have let Peter make up his own story. Looks like he wanted his friends to think he had "grown up" a little. The rest of the ride was very quiet. I had only met Peter's first two friends and I had already gotten off on the wrong foot with them.

 **AN: Thank you so much to Pfannkuchen07 for their super sweet comment~ I'm sorry this chapter took a little longer than usual, but I'm on vacation at the moment, and I will continue to be for a few more weeks. So, updates will be slower than normal. But thank you for bearing with me and please leave a review if you have the time ^^**


	11. There is No Stealing in This Chapter

When Peter said "institute," I thought of a professional, modern setting like one of the pricey science schools I couldn't afford to go to. For some reason I pictured the place with scientists in white lab coats that specialized in mutant studies and sterile, white walls everywhere. I hadn't expected it to look like…a mansion. We drove about an hour and a half before entering a very lush, green neighborhood. I recognized the area as Salem Center, a posh place I thought I'd never go. Large estates could be found here and there, but the institute was found far removed from all of them. Scott drove up to the large, front gate. There was a plaque by the gate that read "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters." Rolling down the window, he pushed a button on the side of the gate, saying "it's me." The gates creaked and slowly opened, allowing us to drive onto the grounds.

The gravel driveway led straight up to an old yet stately building. The word "mansion" came to mind rather than "institute." The grounds themselves stretched on around the school with a lake off to the side, gardens, and a good number of paths that led to who knows where. _This_ was where Peter got to live now? And all this time I was keeping him from coming back to all this. Scott parked the car in front of the main entrance and we began to strenuous task of hauling all the boxes out. Maximoff, the little slacker, let Kurt and Scott handle that. His excuse was that he needed to talk to the professor about me staying. The inside was even more amazing—something out of a James Bond movie! Old wood floors, pillars, stained glass—this institute was a lot more than I thought it would be.

"Wow," I breathed, staring up at the vaulted ceilings, "This is amazing. Why didn't you want to come back to this sooner?"

Peter just shrugged, answering simply, "Cuz I was hangin' out with you,"

"But—"

"Alright, c'mon," he took me by the hand, leading me down the hall, "I gotta introduce you to the professor. He's a nice guy, but let me do the talking."

"Err…ok," I gulped.

For as big and official as the school was, I didn't see to many "gifted youngsters" wandering the halls. Peter explained on the way that it was just because it was summer break. A lot of the kids had gone home, but a good handful stayed. According to him, the kids who stayed usually chose to remain because they were runaways or had nothing left for them at home. I couldn't help but feel like a runaway myself.

Peter took me to an office door at the far end of a hall. A golden plaque on the door read "Professor Charles Xavier." So this was the "professor" and headmaster I had heard so much about. I only hoped Peter was telling the truth when he said he was on his good side. Peter knocked and a "come in" could be heard on the other end. He opened the door, revealing a young man sitting at a big office desk. He wore a nice grey suit and was completely bald.

"Ah, Peter," Xavier smiled, "Welcome back!"

"It's good to be back, Professor," Peter nodded, entering the office.

I followed him, and when I got closer to Xavier, I saw that he was sitting in a wheelchair. It looked fairly high-tech, though, so he probably had an easy time getting around campus. The professor's eyebrows raised upon seeing me.

"You brought a friend?" he remarked.

"Uh, yeah!" Peter perked up, "This is Robin. She lives in my neighborhood back at home, we're really close friends."

"A pleasure to meet you Miss Robin," the professor smiled and extended a hand.

I smiled shyly back and gave his hand a shake. So far, he was a lot nicer than I expected. I dunno why, but I just figured all school principals/headmasters had sticks up their asses.

"Sooo," Peter spoke as he leaned into the desk, "Robin kinda wants to get away from home for a bit, and since it's summer and all and we got a lot of space and not too much goin' on, I was kinda thinkin' she could stay for a while."

Xavier gave him a curious glance before saying, "So you want to host a visitor?"

Peter blinked before replying, "Uh, I…I didn't know we could do that,"

"Of course," Xavier chuckled, "Students have friends and family come visit them every now and then. We have a few visitors rooms set aside as well. Just remember that the maximum duration of a visitor's stay is 5 days and that she'll be your full responsibility."

Peter looked a little speechless at the sudden info dump. He didn't even seem to know about the whole visitor thing before now.

"Peter, did you read that part in the school handbook I gave to you?" the professor asked.

"Must have missed that part," he shrugged.

I chuckled, knowing he probably didn't even read a page of it. Meanwhile, the professor pulled out a notebook from his desk, flipping through a few of the pages. The notebook was filled with names and dates on them, presumably a ledger book for visitors.

"Miss Robin…er, what was your last name?" he asked as he scribbled my name down.

I heard Peter stifle a laugh, so I elbowed him in the side.

"Banks," I answered stoically.

"Right then," he muttered to himself as he filled in my last name, "Robin Banks…"

He paused for a moment, letting the irony of the name sink in. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled to himself. However, Peter was trying his hardest to not burst out into uncontrollable laughter, so he tried to keep his volume to a low giggle. I merely rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

"Right! Ahem…" the professor regained his composure and put the book away, "There's not quite as much going on here since it's summer, but perhaps you'd like to sit in on a few classes?"

My nose crinkled at the thought at first. Who'd voluntarily want to take classes in the summer? But then I thought of how different it could be. Maybe this mutant institute taught subjects differently, and if I opted out of them, I'd never get the opportunity to see. Plus, I could experience the kind of school environment Peter was exposed to, which I couldn't lie that I was interested in.

I slowly nodded, saying, "Yeah…ok."

"Do you have any subjects in particular that are favorite of yours?" he asked, pulling out yet another notebook from his desk.

"I'm good at math," I shrugged.

After paging through the book for a few moments, he scribbled something down, saying, "Professor McCoy has an algebra class tomorrow at noon, if that interests you."

"Ok," I perked up, "That sounds nice."

"Peter, I trust you know what class I'm talking about?" Xavier motioned toward Maximoff, "You can take her there tomorrow?"

"Sure, no problem," he shrugged.

So far, Xavier's Institute was far more welcoming than I had imagined. I thought for sure they'd have some reservations about a human staying on campus, but everyone there seemed pretty ok with it. For the rest of the day, I was in total bliss! Peter gave me a tour around campus (although he was tricky to keep up with) and we even ran into Kurt and Scott again along the way. I was excited for the next day when I'd get to see more of the school life, maybe meet some other kids who could actually tolerate me the same as Peter.

But when Peter took me to my guest room, I felt reality come crashing back down. I was without any luggage: just myself, a pair of jeans, and the _Pink Floyd_ T-shirt Peter lent me. The guest room was stark and without much décor; there was even a place that was obviously designated for a suitcase or backpack, but I had nothing. I was on the run—at least it felt like it…

"Robin, you ok?" Peter spoke up, snapping me out of my haze.

I whirled around from the door to my room, "What? Oh, yeah!"

"If you don't like the room—"

"No, no, it's fine!" I said quickly, "I just…Thanks for letting me come with you."

He seemed a little surprised to me get all sentimental on him again. Maybe he thought after last night, I wouldn't be too much of a sap anymore.

"Of course," he said casually, "It's no big deal. You needed time away, so I gave it to you."

"But—I mean, not everyone would have done that," my brow creased, "I-It was so last minute and I thought for sure things would be awkward between us after…well after last night…"

The two of us both averted our gazes from one another at the very mention of it. That awkward kiss, him digging glass out of my hands; it was an unusual night to say the least. It was evident it still bugged us both.

"No, we're still cool," Peter cleared his throat, "We're still friends."

I nodded, the word "friends" running through my head over and over. It felt selfish to want more than that, after all, our friendship was a pretty kickass thing. But as I thought, he didn't want someone as young as me…

After realizing a pause had fell between us, I straightened up and said, "I'm gonna settle in, ok? I'll come find you for dinner?"

"Sounds good," he smirked, "I know some good places for food,"

"Can we walk out on the check, again?"

"Absolutely."

"Great!" I grinned, then retreated into my room.

As soon as the door was shut, I let out a tired sigh and slid to the floor. Even though I had slept well, I still felt exhausted. Poking at my eye, I found that it was still a little sore, and upon examining it in the mirror, it still had some purple around it. Looking down at my scabbed hands, I remembered the home I had left. This wasn't the first time I left home for more than 24 hours. With an overbearing older sibling and the life of a klepto, I often found the need to retreat. But I had never left over something this serious before…Jordan had never hurt me so bad like this.

"Am I even planning on going back?" I thought to myself.

If I did, would anything change? I might get in extra trouble for running off with a mutant, but not much else. If I stayed, I'd pretty much be choosing to run away for good. It was a thought that crossed my mind a few times before, but one I never followed through with. Whatever it was—familial ties, the guilt that mom wouldn't want me to leave home—I stayed put. I remembered that one song, _Should I Stay or Should I Go?_

And I guess at the moment, I didn't know. I flopped down on the bed, relaxing my muscles and shutting my eyes. After a few minutes of contemplating, I decided that I was here to clear my head until I was ready to sort the mess I had left back at home. Who knows, maybe I'd find something here to help me fix it all.

 **AN: Really sorry about the slow update! I went on a 3-week long vacation but now I'm back and ready to finish up Robin's story! This chapter is a little uneventful, too. It's like a transition chapter between the New York suburb setting and the Institute. But don't worry, the other chapters will be more angsty. A little less stealing and more feelings, so I hope that's ok with you! And thank you to Bubbles90 and Pollyyatesx for your first time reviews on this fic~**


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